


Tea & Schemes

by possiblypeachy



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fed-up Siblings, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-06-29 02:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possiblypeachy/pseuds/possiblypeachy
Summary: Florence Abberline was a woman bound to get herself wrapped up in trouble. Trouble came with the name 'Jacob Frye'.A.K.A: A tale of budding romance and tired siblings, with an appropriate sprinkling of humour and emotions.





	1. The Woes of Having a Sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have fallen hopelessly in love with Assassin's Creed: Syndicate (and the Frye twins) so i thought i'd offer this up to the fans. i have plans to make this terribly long so do bear with me (i have the general idea of it all written up so !!! ). 
> 
> the plot focuses around Florence and the relationships she ends up involved in (both platonic, romantic, and others), so there'll be gentle references to the main plot of the game but otherwise it follows a fictional side story that i've tried to integrate seamlessly :))
> 
> my writing hands have been rusty recently, so pardon anything you deem terrible!

“Freddy! Fredd-- _shit!_ ”

Florence Abberline was something of an abnormality when you consider the temperament of your average middle-class lady. She lacked the charm in her spoken word than some of her neighbours and tended to be far too intrigued in tasks that didn’t befit a lady of near-twenty. Though, it was hard to dislike the mousy-haired woman, what with that sweet smile of hers. She was often caught bumbling about the streets of London, doing sleuthing of her own.

She had a penchant for finding dark information about suspected criminals. Time and time again, Florence had helped her brother in making an arrest on someone unsuspecting. This was solely because she was unfathomably lucky in that field. It also helped that, despite her assumed airy-ness, she has a superb sense of one’s character.

The glint in her eyes of honey brown told that she had found something of good enough interest to share. That, and the letter that she was waving wildly in the direction of Frederick.

He, and the two others he was speaking with, turned to look at her as she stumbled over to them, wiping the dirt of Whitechapel off of the knees of her dress. “I have a--” she inhaled deeply and made a ‘ _hoo_ ’ noise as she breathed out, “I have a letter here that might be of interest. It fell out of--”

“ _Florence!_ ”

She paused, her face like a startled hare and her body still locked in its dress-patting position.

His mouth was drawn into a tight line. Then, he sighed and held out his hand. “It is as though,” He took the note from her and she rolled her eyes to the side, knowing that she was going to get a telling off, “you never give a few seconds to consider and _filter_ your words.” When she finally looked back to her brother, he was pointing a finger at her, “You’ll never find a man to court you with a foul mouth like that.”

“I shall not marry a man who cannot bear to hear me curse when I desire to.”

Frederick sighed deeply, poking his tongue into his cheek for a moment, before glancing behind her. He gestured to his sister with the hand that held the letter. “I apologise for my sister; she can be so… _brash_.”

Finally, Florence turned to examine those behind her. A man and a woman of equal height-- give or take a small bit-- with the kind of likeness that only befitted siblings. A strange sense of fashion with regards to the lady, she thought, though perhaps she was envious of her trousers; she certainly wouldn’t have tripped earlier if she had dressed like that. Gaze flickering between them both, she observed they both had a very similar twist to their smile and the look in their eyes told of amusement.

“Well, she’s not the most peculiar character we’ve met in London so far, so you needn’t worry, Mister Abberline.” The woman mentioned, to which her companion nodded almost too enthusiastically.

Florence, having had her fill of trying to assume things about them both, held a hand out for either to shake. “I apologise for my interruption. I’m Florence Abberline-- the sergeant's sister. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance…”

As she trailed off, there came a shake of her hand and the introduction of “Evie Frye”. She couldn’t help but notice how firm Evie’s calloused grip was; it was all but too obvious that the woman wasn’t your usual ‘lady’. “This is my brother, Jacob.”

“A pleasure.” He said with the kind of sly grin that already gave her the impression that Jacob was the more lively of the pair.

They were both fighters, there was no doubt about that. Both grips were strong and, while shaking Jacob’s hand, her eyes had grazed over that strange gauntlet they both seemed to wear. Evie seemed more fluid-- gazelle-like-- even in the way she stood and balanced her weight from foot to foot. Jacob, however, was the opposite and appeared to be very content with making himself out to be a brick wall of a man. Ever intrigued, Florence began a bank of questions she would ask another time.

With introductions out of the way, Florence turned back to her brother, an eyebrow raised, gesturing toward the letter. He narrowed his eyes as he read along the last few scrawlings of ink. Clicking his tongue, he passed it back over to her and she gave him an altogether confused and offended look. “What is it?”

“It’s interesting, Florrie--”

A little hum came from behind her, alongside a “ _‘Florrie’_ : how sweet”. She heard Evie mutter something and the sound of a slap on an arm, to which Jacob chuckled out an ‘ _ow!_ ’.

“-- but we can’t just make an arrest based on a scrap of paper and nothing else. We’d need to do a house investigation and we don’t have the men for that-- especially not with all these bloody Blighters.”

“ _Freddy!_ You can’t leave a man to do things like that; he’s a _people-snatcher!_ And, he’s sweet on me.” Florence threw her hands up into the air, the curls in her hair wobbling. The woman was certainly animated; the twins had already come to that conclusion. “What happens if I’m next to be snatched? How would you explain that to mother and father, hm?”

Freddy stared over her shoulder into the distance, bottom jaw protruding in annoyance.

“ _‘Sergeant Stolen-Sister’_ \-- does that have a nice ring to it, Freddy?”

While Evie stifled her laugh behind them, Jacob unashamedly chortled at Frederick’s vacant expression.

Florence huffed. “Don’t blank me when I’m asking you perfectly valid questions, Frederick Abberline!”

“You’re being ridiculous. I’m in the middle of business and you--”

“ _Oh_ , you are insufferably boring sometimes.” She folded her arms below her chest. There were a few moments of quiet in which they could all see cogs rotating in her head, her weight rested on one leg while the other bounced up and down. Chewing on her bottom lip, Florence pointed into the air as if to punctuate her next point. “If you won’t do anything about it, perhaps I will.” Honey eyes locked with her brother’s dark ones. There was a challenge somewhere in her gaze-- a blazing mischievousness that made his posture slump. Before he could say anything to object, she turned to the twins, who were highly entertained by the entire ordeal. “Meet me in the market at 2 o’clock, if either of you are so inclined to help a lady who worries for the well-being of her fellow people.”

With that, Florence was off, deciding to continue on her endeavour of wiping the dirt from the pale yellow of her dress as she went. The three of them stared after her, Frederick looking particularly defeated. Evie appeared appropriately confused and her gaze flickered between the alleyway and Freddy, who likely didn’t have the answers she would’ve liked. Jacob, however, seemed fairly amused; his lips had curled into the kind of smile that would’ve allowed a laugh had he not also been taken aback by the young woman’s nature.

He pointed in the direction that she had left and Evie gave him a side-eye. “I like her.” He grinned, earning him a deep sigh from his sister, though Evie’s own lips twitched upwards.

Florence Abberline could easily be described as a hurricane of personality.

As Freddy turned back to them, he was pinching the bridge of his nose and overall had the disposition of a man who had dealt with her for far too long. “Just…” He showed them his palm like he was warding away an incessant house cat, “... ignore my sister--”

“That’s what I tell most people too.”

 _Smack_.

“Shut up, Jacob.”

“-- and _do not_ indulge in her fantasies of adventure; she’ll only end up hurting herself.”

Jacob dipped his head to one side, clearly about to object, but Evie placed a firm grip on his arm and gave Frederick a reassuring smile, though her eyes screamed irritation at her brother. “Don’t worry, Mister Abberline. _We_ \--” a rather harsh glare was thrown at Jacob, “-- will not be seen at the market this afternoon. Besides, what with the work you’ve given us, among other things, we should be too busy. Isn’t that right, Jacob?”

A snide grin graced the younger’s expression. “Of course, dear sister.”

“Good.” Freddy said, nodding to himself somewhat.

Florence had been known to worry her brother to no end since moving to London. It wasn’t that she was a terrible sister, per se, it was just that she had such an overwhelming desire for her life to be… _seen_ that it likely pained her not to be in the centre of some kind of attention or scheme. She would make a pleasant actress, he’d always thought, but Florence seemed insistent on real-life experience over anything in the theatre. _Oh_ , how he rued.

“Well,” Jacob began, already taking a few steps away from their meeting place, “if we’re all done here I do believe I have one Homer Dalton to bring to you, _Freddy_ \--”

Frederick grimaced. “ _Sergeant_ \--”

Jacob, unfazed his attempt at correction, was still walking away from the scene, a devilish smile playing at his features. “-- and, Evie, perhaps I’ll bring some fresh fruit from the _market_ back to Greenie’s shop for us all to share later.”

If Evie could’ve rolled her eyes any harder, they would’ve popped out of their sockets. “Jacob, no--”

“I hear the pears are _exquisitely_ tasty this time of year.” He was moving further still and had almost turned a corner.

“Jacob--”

“Don’t worry, Evie; I would never forget the red apples.” The rest of him disappeared, leaving them both with the terrible image of his grin.

They stood in silence for a few moments, both staring into the air like they wished they could evaporate into it.

Evie exhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry. My brother is such a--”

“I understand.” Freddy gave her a tired smile and brief raise of his eyebrows before toddling off down the alleyway, holding up the skirt of his dress.

Hoping that this had been a strange dream, Evie shook her head.

Much to her displeasure, nothing changed.

_Perhaps she should’ve stayed in Crawley._

* * *

In the afternoon, the marketplace was quite the attraction. Most saw it as a place to not only collect the next few day’s groceries but also to have a good gossip. On a good day, Florence would accompany her household’s cook, a kindly older lady by the name of Lissie, to have a nice chat and treat herself to a gift or two. If Frederick was lucky, perhaps he would get a trinket when she returned home but it depended on if she deemed he had been a nice enough brother that day or not.

Today was not one of those days.

Having changed into a cooler, green dress for the afternoon-- free of marks of her clumsiness, Florence would’ve been quite content to stand near the woodworker’s stall for a good portion of the rest of the day. She’s always had an appreciation of the little wooden figurines he sold. They framed the mantlepiece in the lounge of her home and she was contemplating on filling a shelf in her bedroom with them too. The little bird sculpture she held was sweet enough. If she’d learnt anything from the nature encyclopaedias she read as a child, she believed it to be a sparrow: a bird that she found to be quite positively adorable.

A hand came to her shoulder and she tensed, juggling the figurine to keep it in her grasp. As she went to turn, a body slid in place beside hers at the stall and a familiar voice said: “It looks a bit like you.”

Her lips tugging upwards, she allowed her gaze to flicker towards Jacob, who was perusing through the other trinkets sold by the woodworker. Studying the profile of his face, she raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying I have a beak, Mister Frye?”

Though he wasn’t facing her, Florence could see that he was smiling. “Of course not, Miss Abberline.” His gaze finally met hers and he held his hand out. She placed the bird in his palm and he began to examine it. “I just think it has… pretty eyes.” Jacob had a certain glint in his eyes, as though he wanted to get some kind of rise out of her.

The young lady rolled her eyes and shook her head, though the exhale she gave sounded like a laugh, which satisfied Jacob enough. “While I am glad you trust me enough already to express your, perhaps intimate, liking for avian creatures, Mister Frye,” She began, to which he grimaced and she let out a pleased little laugh, “the man I-- _we_ \-- plan on arresting this afternoon is just over there and-- _pass me back the bird_ \--” He did so, “-- is glaring at our conversation.” Halfway through her speech, Florence had adopted a rather charming smile, looking through the stalls at a rather large man, though the way he carried himself told of a lack of confidence.

Jacob followed her gaze and, at the same time, Florence went back to looking over the trinkets on display. As soon as the man moved his sight from her and onto Jacob, he seemed a great deal more aggressive. It was an unfruitful effort to scare him away.

Jacob’s smile only seemed to infuriate him more and he went back to moving sacks of goods about to avoid the unwavering stare of the assassin. “What’s his name?” Jacob asked.

“Peter Fullmore.” She mentioned, placing the bird back down onto the stall. Jacob glanced at it, then her. “He’s the eldest son of the local butcher and his first wife recently passed—“

“— meaning he’s on the lookout for his next one.” He finished for her with enough intent in his voice that she knew that he was speaking of her.

Florence hummed uncomfortably. “Indeed. I’ve never truly been interested in him, what with his strange demeanour and grubby, _grubby_ hands, but he appears enamoured with me.” They both stared at Peter for a few moments. During that time, the man managed to wipe his nose in a way that could make some ladies faint. Florence and Jacob shared an almost identical look of disgust, which she took as an opportunity to elaborate on her plan. “His liking for me might make it easy for me to… make my way to his home to hunt for evidence.”

Jacob pondered for not even a few seconds before he reeled back and gave her a _look_. “You plan on _offering yourself_ to him?”

“Yes, Mister Frye, but I’m not going to… _do_ anything!” Leaning closer to him, her voice lowered, “He’s a _kidnapper!_ Do you really think I’m idiotic enough to _fuck_ him?”

He raised his eyebrows and a smirk graced his expression. “I suppose not, Miss Abberline, what with your strong choice of words.”

“It’s commonplace for me; perhaps you should get used to it.”

“Implying that we’re going to spend more time together, are you?”

Florence grinned, the dimple making an appearance again. “If you’re lucky, Mister Frye. Now,” She gave him a tap on the shoulder, as to move him out of the way and walk around him, “I’ll whistle if I need your help inside the house. Try to keep a policeman nearby, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“So, I’m a bodyguard?” His brows knitted together, body shifting in her direction.

“Of sorts. You look like you climb,” she gestured to his hands, which he then looked at too. Jacob ran a thumb over his palm and fingers. He supposed, with a tilt of his head, that they were quite rough, “and I don’t intend for you to just waltz into his home with me; I don’t think dear Peter is that way inclined. So, you should stay to the rooftops with that lovely gun of yours,” Jacob narrowed his eyes, now realising that Florence was far more observant than she let on, “until something bad happens upon me. Oh, and don't worry; I’ll pay you for your troubles.”

“No need. I’ll do anything you ask to keep the law in check.”

Florence looked unconvinced. “I feel as though you are simply saying that to appear more saintly.”

He smiled. “Perhaps.”

“Well,” Her face twisted in disappointment, glancing away from him, “that's no fun is it? To think, Mister Frye, that I was going to be getting up to no good with you.” When her eyes met his again, there was a mischievous light within them and her lips tightened to suppress a smile. He shook his head and gave a quiet laugh.

 _He was going to have fun with her_.

“Right,” Florence gave a sigh and Jacob nodded, “I’m off to work whatever magic I may have. I’ll see you in a bit, Mister Frye.”

“Stay safe, _Florrie_.”

Over her shoulder, she gave him a look sharp enough to stab him but the little smile she fought away made him break out into that terribly satisfied grin of his.

As soon as Peter heard the determined little clicks of her shoes, he shot upwards and gave her a dopey smile. She returned the gesture, her fingers dancing along the wood of his father’s stall. “How’s the day been, my dear?” Her voice took a rather enchanting tone and the way that her posture straightened— no doubt drawing attention to her figure— made it clear why she was well suited to become an actress.

“Oh— _uh_ — good, I suppose. Pa has been…”

His voice trailed into the background of her thoughts-- not that that was a difficult task; poor Peter’s tone had never been particularly invigorating. Rather, as she nodded along to the conversation, honey eyes raked along him for any signs of his criminality. It was a difficult task, what with him helping his father, the _butcher_ , often and Florence failed in finding anything. Though, the way he frequently glanced over her shoulder as though he was looking out for something was suspicious and his tendency to wring his hands together only made him look--

“Miss Abberline?”

She jolted and the absent look in her eyes drained away. To recover, she smiled and huffed out a carefully practiced laugh. “Sorry, dear. My mind has been all over the place lately.”

Peter gave her a concerned gaze, to which her lips curled in a rather feline way. “Don’t worry, Miss Abberline. I was… I was only asking what your plans are for the rest of the afternoon?”

_Ah_. Splendid. 

“I’m entirely free for the day, Mister Fullmore. Why? Did you perhaps want to,” Florence’s voice lowered and she leant over the stall, closer to him, gaze dancing between his lips and his eyes, “ _occupy my evening?_ ” 

Peter coughed, blinking rapidly. 

Florence straightened herself again and gave a saddened sigh, “Though, I would understand if not. You’re always so busy--” 

“ _No!_ ” His voice cracked and he looked surprised. If one looked closely enough, they would’ve seen her jaw clench in an attempt to stop from laughing. Florence could almost feel Jacob’s amused gaze watching them. “No, Miss Abberline; nothing would make me happier. I just--” Peter swallowed and his eyes flitted away from her for a few moments. “Meet me at the entrance of the market. I just have to finish up here then we can… be on our way to my home, perhaps?” 

A smile that could rival the Devil himself graced her lips and she nodded. “That sounds lovely, my dear.” 

With that, Florence made for the main street, a flame of utter delight flickering within her eyes. Adrenaline had already made its mark on her body: her hands shaking and blood rushing in her ears. So many underestimated the might of a charming lady. How foolish of them. 

As she passed the fruit stall, she locked eyes with Jacob, who was rolling a red apple in his palm. He gave her a knowing grin, a sense of approval hidden beneath his gaze. Florence had to stop from giggling like a madwoman. 

_Oh_ , how _devious_ she felt. It was delightful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm excited about this so please do tell me what you think! any feedback makes for a happy writer ~
> 
> feel free to ask me Qs in the comments or on my tumblr account (@possiblypeachy), where i'll be posting it too, if that suits your needs better in the future. i'll try my best to answer everything as best as i can!
> 
> (also, i beg of you, please just sweep any historical inaccuracies under the carpet; i am trying :,) )


	2. A Brief and Unsavoury Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my inspiration for this is still at an all-time high!! who would've thought?
> 
> !! there's a violent encounter in this though it is very brief and not particularly descriptive, i don't think, so please do just bypass that if you're so inclined !!
> 
> enjoy! :)

Peter’s home was modest, with a certain clutter that suited a man still grieving the loss of his first wife. The intruding thought that the mess was from frequent scuffles here never seemed to leave the forefront of Florence’s mind. While he closed the door and hung both their coats up, she couldn’t help but inspect it all with a frown.

“Something the matter, Miss Abberline?” Peter gave her a worried glance, then followed her gaze to their surroundings. He moved to stand beside her and she could feel him hesitate before placing a hand on the small of her back. “Apologies for the clutter; it’s been… _different_ without Abigale around.”

“No doubt, Mr Fullmore.” Florence felt almost sorry for the man; sadness can drive people to desperate measures. “If there’s ever anything I can do to help your mind away from the grief, don’t hesitate to ask.” She offered him a small, sad smile, of which he found some comfort in.

“Well, you being here now is a few steps in a good direction, I think.” 

Her mother had always taught her to weigh one’s sins before exacting judgement upon them and Florence was certainly beginning to have difficulty following her words now. Peter always had such a sad light in his eyes and only ever seemed to smile when she popped over to his stall to say ‘ _hello_ ’. She could tell that the last few months had been rough for him by the ever-present purple beneath his eyes and the grey hairs growing at his temple, despite him only being in his mid-twenties.

Though, the other half that revelled in hearing Freddy’s tales of justice also thought of all the men and women that had gone missing recently. Did one man’s woe justify the decimation of the lives of others? Of course not, she thought; those were innocent people taken to goodness knows where without a choice or an opinion on it. Taking away the freedom of a person was a fate worse than death, Florence has always insisted, and this man was wretched for helping in the process. 

The grey-area between morals and law had always been too confusing.

Curious eyes flickered to the second floor and the strange scuff marks on the stairs. If he had children, perhaps she’d have let that pass but, as far as he had told her from their pleasant little chats in the afternoons, his wife had passed before they had the chance to try. A sudden uneasiness prickled at her skin, hairs rising on her arms and neck. In an effort to self-comfort, she crossed her arms beneath her chest.

From his tidying, he turned to give her a reassuring smile-- as though he wanted to ensure no second thoughts arose. Florence returned the gesture but asked a simple: “Do you have a room I might freshen up in? All I need is a mirror or--”

“Certainly, Miss Abberline. There’s a spare bedroom on the first left when you go upstairs.”

“Thank you.” She gave a small nod, a few strands of mousy hair drooping onto her forehead. A devilish smile curled at her lips and, as she ascended the stairs, she leant against the bannister as she turned, “Perhaps, Mister Fullmore,” He stared at her intently. Well, by ‘her’ one means the extra skin exposed by her position, “you might give me a tour of your own room when I return?”

Peter was left with the vision of her skin and lips burned to his eyelids, only able to hear the gentle creak of floorboards above him now. How could one woman be so captivating? He allowed himself a shaky sigh as he opened the liquor cabinet, pulling from it a whiskey he’d been saving for the past few months or so. He could, with all his heart, declare that Florence Abberline was a goddess among women. Well, to him at least.

If only he knew.

There was a sense of loss on the upper floor, as though someone else should be walking these halls beside Peter. Certain things had been untouched for a long while; there was enough dust atop that tabletop clock in the corridor that, if disturbed, it would’ve thrown Florence into a sneezing fit. 

Her gaze flickered to the door left ajar to her right-- presumably his bedroom. With a glance back down the stairs behind her and the sudden realisation of the sheer speed of her heartbeat, Florence sucked in a breath and crept her way inside. 

The left side of the bed had been unmade, while the other looked still-- unmoved. There was a photo frame on the nightstand to the left. Peter beamed in it, his hand hooked around the waist of an almost sickly-looking brunette, wedding veil framing the sharp angles of her face. She looked happy enough though, despite her illness. Consumption is what drained her life, Florence recalled; Peter could barely say the word without a lump appearing in his throat.

That feeling of melancholy rose in her chest again and she frowned. Peter was a good man. It’s a shame things had come to this.

Tearing her eyes away from the image of them both, she began her investigation. Shaking hands fumbled with the doors of his wardrobe only to find nothing inside. She pulled open drawers, scanning over letters from his mother, a photograph of his siblings, correspondence between himself and some tailor in Birmingham. Reading over the last letter, she found nothing more than a confirmation of his order for a few new shirts and… _a dress?_ Eyes narrowed, she glanced to the postscript to find that he had wanted to gift her a dress-- a courting present, no doubt. Her heartstrings tugged again and, with what will to finish this off she had left, she slammed the drawer shut, flinching upon hearing how loud the noise was. 

For a few moments, she stayed still, listening, watching the door. 

Nothing.

_Good._

Florence fell deep into thought. Where would she hide something? Her gaze flitted from area to area, like she was checking things off of a list in her mind. 

Wardrobe? _Already looked._

Shelves? _Too easy to find._

Desk? _Nothing but plain paper._

There was movement downstairs. She worried that he could hear her heart thumping in her chest.

_Come on, Florence Abberline; you have sleuthing in your blood._

She suppressed a gasp and scrambled towards the bed, falling to her hands and knees. A hand patted about beneath the bed, eyes closed in fear of what else she might find down there.

_Dust._

_Dust._

_Leather._

_Dust--_

Wait.

She tugged at the leather and a notebook came sliding into her grasp. Hands shaking, Florence stood up again and let out a strained breath, like she was trying to calm her nerves but was all too aware of the noise it would make. Placing the book on the bed, she desperately tried to untie the knot at the front but a mix of clamminess and adrenaline stopped her from being able to still her fingers and pick at the string.

A draught from behind her rustled the fabric of her dress but, in her panicked stupor, she didn’t move to investigate, still working on trying to pry her way into his notebook.

“Having trouble, are we?”

That alone was enough to make Florence go into a frenzy and she turned, book in hand, to smack her assailant, ready to jump out of the open window.

_Open_ window?

The windows weren’t open when she first came here.

Her swing got weaker and a hand pressed against it, to gain her attention rather than actually stop her ‘weapon’ in its tracks. Florence, having closed her eyes with the theory of ‘ _if I can’t see them, they’re not real_ ’, finally let her gaze drag from the book to the body in front of her.

Jacob.

She narrowed her eyes.

_Jacob._

“You are the Devil, Mister Frye.”

“So I’ve been told.”

He practically pinched the book from her grasp and shuffled around her to place it back on the bed. He bent his left hand back somewhat and a blade rocketed out of his gauntlet, to which Florence, from her position leant over his side, jolted backwards. The blade retracted again, string now cut neatly through, and Jacob opened the notebook, taking a step back to let her rummage through the pages as she saw fit. 

“I didn’t whistle.” She mentioned and she could see him shrug beside her, leant against the bedpost. 

He gave a half-smile. “I suppose I simply couldn’t wait to be alone with you.”

Florence laughed quietly and shook her head, turning for a second or two to give him a half-chiding look. “I wouldn’t recommend anything on this bed, Mister Frye. Have you seen the stains?” She raised her eyebrows and gestured with her head to the exposed mattress. Jacob chuckled and straightened his posture, moving to peer over her shoulder and at Peter’s writings in the book. 

He had written of his usual daily tasks, making it somewhat of a journal. Florence flicked through the pages far too quickly for Jacob to keep up, leaving him only to hope that she knew what she was looking for. He did, however, notice that her lips would purse and the usual warm tones of her eyes seemed to cool and steel when she was concentrating. 

After a few moments of darting back and forth in the book, she came to a messy page, filled with scribblings and lists. She scanned over the writings and her expression recoiled in disdain when she found it to be a list of names and locations. The first six had been crossed off-- all names of people who had gone missing in the area recently. The next was a young lady who she’d spoken with briefly in the public library-- _Mary-Anne Parrish_. According to this book, she was ‘ _due_ ’ to be delivered to one _Harry Spurling_ by tomorrow afternoon and--

The bedroom door opened and Florence scrambled to close the notebook. She soon realised it was a futile attempt to cover her tracks, however, when she felt Jacob’s arms brush against hers. 

Peter looked betrayed and _furious_. “Miss Abberline, what do you think you’re doing?” She opened her mouth to speak-- a stupid decision in itself-- but Peter interjected with a harsh point to Jacob, “And, who is this? What’s he doing in _my_ bloody house?”

They were both silent for a few moments. Florence noticed that Jacob had shifted his body so that it obscured more of hers. One of his hands came out in a calming gesture. “Mister Fullmore, we were just… making an…” Jacob glanced back to her and she gave him a bewildered look, as if to tell him that he’s on his own, “...enquiry on--”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Peter bellowed. Jacob felt Florence tense behind him. “Miss Abberline, I _trusted you_ and-- and now you do _this?_ ” He gestured wildly to the book behind her. There was a glint in his eyes that told her that he knew. “You… _rummage_ through my things while I wait, like a mutt, downstairs, thinking that you have _any_ kind of liking for me? I am not,” He was red in the face, spitting as he shouted, “some kind of _fucking lap dog!_ ” There was a pause. He exhaled deeply, eyes closed. “What did you find in the book?”

Florence pushed in front of Jacob and he gave a worried look. Her hope was that he would calm down if she approached him. “Mister Fullmore-- Peter-- it was not my intention to--”

“ _What did you find in the fucking book?_ ”

Jacob gritted his teeth and took a step forward. “Don’t you _dare_ speak to her like that.”

Peter’s crazed gaze darted from Florence’s pleading eyes to Jacob, the flame of anger within him only being stroked further. A cursed smile curled his lips and it made her stomach flip with unease. “I didn’t realise that you were a cheap whore, Miss Abberline. If I knew I could buy my way to you, I would've done it earlier.” Her face dropped, brows knitting together, incredulous. “How much does he pay for you?”

A stinging slap came to his cheek and he reeled to the side, a hand coming up to his face. Florence, enraged, pointed at him, body trembling with a newfound source of adrenaline. “You are a scumbag, Peter Fullmore. A dirty, _filthy scumbag_ \--”

“ _Flor--_ ”

Jacob couldn’t shout out a warning before a backhanded slap cracked across her own cheek and Peter’s hand connected with her throat. She made a choked cry for help, but it was muffled by the noise of one of her hands grabbing onto the wardrobe door to anchor herself. The other wrapped around Peter’s wrist and pushed, though she knew it was of no use. “I can’t have this _harlot_ telling her brother--”

His hand had barely been there for three seconds before Jacob was upon him, grip tugging at the hair on his head, using that leverage to slam Peter’s head into the wardrobe. The taller man recoiled and groaned, going to nurse the crunch he heard in his nose, but was stopped from moving any further by Jacob locking his arms behind him. Peter, in an attempt to get out of the hold, tried to kick backwards but a blade poked into his back and Jacob, voice hot and angry in his ear, uttered: “I would advise _against_ that, Mister Fullmore.”

Florence, having now blinked the stars away from her vision, stormed forward, a look of disgust that ladies barely wore painted across her expression. Jacob furrowed his brows, confused at what she was planning to do but, upon seeing how she used Peter’s shoulders as leverage to deliver a swift kick to the groin, it all clicked into place.

Jacob himself flinched, face contorted in almost sympathetic pain, as Peter slipped to the floor. He certainly wasn’t going to be standing again for a while after that.

She gave a little, breathless laugh and leered over him, fury still burning in her eyes. “How’s that for a little _whore_ , eh?” Florence then spat at him, the offending ball of saliva landing on his cheek. “You are a _wretched_ man, Peter, and the world will be a better place with you locked away.” 

Silence fell over the room, bar her heavy breathing and Peter’s pained groans. Jacob’s hazel gaze flickered from the man on the floor to Florence. A redness had spread across her cheekbone, already showing early signs of bruising, and one of her hands ghosted across her neck. Strands of brown hair had fallen out of its elaborate bun on the crown of her head and now stuck to her forehead or fell along the side of her face. He could tell that she was hurt, despite her expression not.

“Mister Frye, could you go and collect a police officer so we might depart?” Life was finally bleeding back into her eyes but, for the first time, the smile she gave him seemed to be forced. 

Jacob opened his mouth as if to speak, glanced down to Peter on the floor, then back to her, before nodding silently and rushing down the stairs. 

When he left, Florence opened her mouth and moved her jaw to one side, trying to stretch away the pain in her face. One of her hands poked at the tender flesh there and she winced, casting a look of contempt to the body on the floor. She moved around him to sit on the bed, a tired sigh spilling from her lips.

Her eyes glanced at the picture on the nightstand again. “You know, Peter,” She began, her voice distant and with such a distinct lack of its usual emotion that it made Peter sober up somewhat on the floor, “it’s a pity that things ended up the way they have; life is a ruthless mistress sometimes. Abigale didn’t deserve what happened to her.” Peter made a noise on the floor, sounding almost like remorse, but Florence continued on. “But, those people in your notebook?” Her face crinkled and she shook her head, almost like she was suppressing tears, “They didn’t deserve that either.” 

There was noise downstairs and the creak of stairs being ascended. She gave Peter one last look before the police entered the room. “I only hope that you get the help you need to endure, Mister Fullmore.” 

A blur of blue barraged through the door, handcuffs already in hand. Two officers were working on restraining and removing Peter, while the other came to stand before her. “Miss Abberline?” She offered a small smile and stood, to which the officer seemed to be put at ease by, “The gentleman who called us has requested that you meet him outside. Is that okay?”

“Yes, of course. If you could…” She trailed off briefly before huffing out a laugh, “If you could get this notebook to Sergeant Abberline and tell him that ‘ _I told him so_ ’, I would greatly appreciate it.”

With that, she left quite gratefully; had she spent any longer in that forsaken house she might’ve gone insane. The cool, early evening air was refreshing, sharpening her vision and mind. Honey eyes ran along the length of the road, searching for Jacob’s familiar flat cap and wide frame. A wave and a smile from him drew her attention to the other side of the road and, with a quick look to ensure no carriages would mow her down, she hurried across the road, as though she was a moth and Jacob’s smile was the comforting glow of a lamp.

“The lady of the hour! You really did a number on that bastard.” He congratulated as they began to walk along the street, his arm positioned slightly behind her body providing a calming sense of company. 

She grinned and it looked closer to genuine than the last he saw of her. “You should thank my sister, Emily, for that one; Freddy would never have taught me a move so debilitating.”

“Well,” he tilted his head to one side, eyebrows tugging upwards, “remind me to stay in your good books.” Florence’s laugh, while small and quiet, had an authenticity to it that made Jacob’s chattering conscience calm down. Despite him feeling better about her mood, however, he still gave a long, hard look at the bruise forming on her cheek, frowning slightly. “How’s the wound?”

She furrowed her brows then, in a moment of realisation, placed her hand against her cheek, wincing against the pressure. “Fine. I’m the youngest of my siblings, Mister Frye; I can take a hit to the face with grace. Besides,” Her expression melded into one of joking pride, “the Abberline family has a robust constitution. If I had allowed a slap from a man like him to fell me, I would be shaming my very own name.”

Jacob chuckled lightly, his gaze filled with something akin to admiration when he glanced back down at Florence, who was still poking at the new blemish on her face. “Would you mind some company on your walk home?”

“Only if it’s good company.” She finally lowered her hand, turning to give him a smile filled with deviltry. 

He gave a mock frown. “I guess I should be off then.”

A gentle smack came to his arm and he laughed, meeting her eyes with as much mischief as she had handed to him, “Stay, Mister Frye; you’re better company than most.” The dimple in her cheek appeared when she looked away from him again, gazing at the bunting hung between the street lamps. “More handsome too.”

He couldn’t help but allow the delight he felt in his chest to bloom to his face. His lips tugged upwards and his eyes flitted down to her. “Wait until I tell your brother, Miss Abberline.”

“You can try, Mister Frye.” Florence grinned, pearly whites on show and a jovial light beaming behind the warmth of her eyes. “You’d be the one told to stay away, not me.”

Jacob smiled, allowing his sight to finally drag away from her. There was an unusual clench in his chest and, with a sense of regret in anticipation of his sister’s words in the future, he realised that he’d been gazing at her in a similar way to how Evie had at Greenie. _God_ , he’d barely been in London a week.

Oh, well. 

He suspected staying away would be near impossible now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right so, no one can tell me that both Frye twins do not fall in love easily. i will forcibly remove myself from the conversation. please just allow me to indulge in this kssnksks
> 
> once again, feel free to slap some love (or constructive criticism) in the comments below and my giddy little heart will respond asap. if you'd like to chat about it to a greater extent, my tumblr is @possiblypeachy so hmu!!


	3. A Walk Through The Strand

“-- and then he--” Florence was in hysterics, a finger coming up to wipe back the tears forming in her eyes. She had quite the infectious laugh; it was a very throat-based noise and required a lot of air, sounding much like a series of strained ‘ _hee_ ’s followed by a hiccup when she finally inhaled again. Jacob couldn’t help but laugh along with her, if not at the story she was telling, but at her god-awful giggling. “-- he stood from his seat, wobbling like buoy on water, clambered up onto the bar and--” Finishing the tale was proving to be difficult and, to steady herself, one of her hands clamped to Jacob’s arm while the other pressed against her own chest in an effort to steady her breathing. “-- began to _undress_ while singing ‘ _God Save The Queen_ ’ at the top of his lungs.”

“You’re still talking about _Freddy?_ ”

Florence hiccuped again and nodded, her shoulders shuddering, trying to gesture for them both to turn to the left. “He slunk back in the door the next morning in his underpants. I practically inhaled my tea; you can still see the stain on one of my dresses.” She looked up to the sky, eyes watering, and blinked vigorously, trying to calm herself down. “ _Oh_ , the other stories I could tell about good _Sergeant Abberline_.”

Jacob grinned. He was more than happy to hear those; he was already revelling in the idea of Freddy’s face when he brings it up. “Well, we do have time to spare; you _did_ say it's a good walk to your house.” He raised a brow, that mischievous glint in his eyes when Florence finally looked at him again.

She swallowed, like she was trying to suppress the rest of her ceaseless giggling, then shook her head, removing her hand from Jacob to thread a few strands of loose hair back into its bun. “No, no; I want a story about your days back in Crawley.”

He rolled his eyes and gave a shrug. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Florence began, mimicking him with how she threw her eyes upwards too. He gave a smile-- one that said ‘you cheeky sod, “I’m not an idiot, Mister Frye. I have worked out your _business_ already. Need I remind you that I am an _incredibly_ invasive sister and I know of my brother and his…” She gestured to his gauntlet with an upward curl of her lips, “ _allies?_ ”

Jacob returned the look but his right hand went to fiddle with the device attached to his forearm. “How?”

“Henry Green’s curios shop is a pleasant little place, isn’t it? He and my brother often have _splendid_ meetings while I browse his wares.”

The devilish look painted across her features made him sigh and grin. “You are sneaky, Florrie.”

It was her turn to huff. “At least call me something different if we’re going to discard formalities; that’s my brother’s name for me and I’d… prefer if I didn’t think of you both at the same time.”

“Why?” He gave a grin filled with innuendo, a smug gleam dancing merrily behind his gaze. “Worried that when you dream of me, dear old Freddy will come and ruin it all? _Ah_ , just as we were about to--”

“ _Jacob_.” How fitting that the first time she said his name was as a plead for him to _stop_.

The man in question chuckled. “My name sounds so nice coming from you… _Flor_.”

“That’s… better, I suppose.” Florence trailed off for a moment or so, as though she was trying to settle on an opinion on ‘Flor’ being her newest nickname. Before she could even bring up her first concern of ‘ _that sounds awfully like the word ‘floor’ _’, another thought pushed that to the side and she pointed an accusing finger at Jacob. “Stop trying to distract me from the story you owe me.”__

He held his hands up in surrender, taking a skip in his step to keep up with her as she hurried across the road, all too aware of the carriage driver that appeared to be going that bit _too_ fast. “Alright, alright. You want to hear something about me or Evie?” 

Considering, she tilted her head to the side. A smile appeared and he already knew her answer. “You.” 

“Of course.” 

Florence grinned and tilted her head toward his as if to tell him to get on with it. 

“Just before Evie and I came here, we were sent to Croydon, having been asked to--” A small group of people walked past them, clad in clothes that told that the pair were entering a place of greater wealth. Jacob gave an inconvenienced frown, “-- _take care_ of two people. Mine was Rupert Ferris--” 

“Ah, I read of his demise in the newspapers. It was your handiwork, then?” 

“Yes, and it was all going _swimmingly_ until I…” He paused. She looked up at him expectantly. “... _derailed a train_.” 

“You _what?_ ” 

“I derailed a train.” 

A silence filled with confusion on her behalf fell between them. From what he could see, her lips had pursed and her brows had knitted together; he could tell she was trying to piece together the puzzle. Florence opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her eyes met his with appropriate bewilderment. He began to smile then broke out into laughter. She huffed out her own chuckle, through which she observed: “I feel like I’m missing a piece of the story here. Why did you-- _how_ did you--” 

“I was escaping on the train and some of those _damned_ Blighters switched the track we were on. It was an unfinished line and… off the ledge it went. It wasn’t _my_ fault, per se--” 

“But, if you hadn’t have been on the train, it wouldn’t have derailed.” 

She had the Devil’s smile stretched across her expression again. 

Jacob sighed. “Well, _maybe_ it was going to derail regardless and--” 

“I doubt that.” 

“You are _horrible_ to me, Florence Abberline.” 

The brunette practically cackled. Jacob had to look away to hide his growing smile from her, lest he give her the satisfaction of having beat him at his own game. Where did she get it from? Maybe Freddy _did_ have another side to him. 

He turned back to her when she gave a thoughtful hum-- her train of thought having obviously swerved to its next course. “Why were there Blighters in Croydon?” 

“Starrick has his fingers in every pie in and around London; of course his _little army_ would be out there too.” 

“ _Starrick?_ ” 

Oh. 

“As in, _Crawford Starrick?_ Railroad baron Starrick?” 

_Oh_. She didn’t know _that_ it seems. 

“ _He’s_ at the top of the food chain? _Goodness_ , I attended a dinner party last November and he was there. I.. spoke to him; he seemed… he seemed nice enough, actually.” Florence was lost in the maze of her own mind, obviously quite taken aback by this realisation. She gave Jacob a _look_. “Is he a…?” 

“A bastard? Yes.” 

She rolled her eyes; Jacob was lucky that he didn’t get a hit to the arm. “No. You know what I mean.” 

“A Templar? He is. I--” His face crumpled, eyes narrowed and brows drawn together, “Does Freddy tell you _everything?_ ” 

“He tells me who to stay away from while travelling about the city; they’re a thoroughly discussed topic between us. Well, how to identify them and why they’re dangerous.” 

Jacob raised a brow, relenting. Freddy made a fair enough decision in telling her; if he made any moves against the Templars-- intentional or not-- it would be exceptionally easy to get to a well-cherished and sheltered sister. It was a relief to know that Florence wasn’t the latter. 

“Good.” He assured, nodding. “They’re people that you shouldn’t want to interfere with.” 

“But you endorse me meddling with the affairs of a kidnapper?” 

He rolled his eyes. “It’s… _different_.” 

She was staring at him with a look of mild annoyance. “You’d better not start sounding like my brother.” 

“Templars are just… another area entirely to your common criminal.” 

Florence frowned but said nothing more, a heavy quiet hanging above them. It stayed like that for a small while as they walked together, passing by men and women all dressed up to go out for the night. The lamplighters had begun their task of lighting up the boroughs of London for the evening, casting the pair in a warm yellow glow as the early evening settled it. By design, The Strand looked gorgeous at night and she often revelled in the fact that she lived amongst such lively splendour. For Jacob, it was his first time really taking the area in, marvelling at the sheer amount of decoration gone into each street corner and the background hum of the upper and middle classes. A small crowd was congregating outside a grandiose building, a fountain and park before it. Florence, from gazing at that dress shop that she must remember to visit soon, turned to catch Jacob staring at the building, obviously intrigued. 

“The Alhambra Music Hall. They’re showing a performance of Shakespeare’s ‘ _The Life and Death of King John_ ’ this evening, thus all the fanciness; had I not got caught up in the plot with Mister Fullmore, I would’ve dressed myself up nicely and gone to watch it.” She paused, watching the crowd slowly shuffle their way into the hall. Florence made a noise akin to kissing one’s teeth, “A shame, really. I do love a bit of ol’ Shakey.” 

Jacob blinked. “What did you just call him?” 

Florence laughed through her nose, her mouth forming a tight-lipped smile before speaking. “Shakey.” 

There was a moment of silence in which they both simply stared at one another. 

“I think he’s rolling in his grave right now.” Jacob mentioned. 

She tutted. “Well, _I_ think that a man so involved and in love with drama would _adore_ a nickname like Shakey and _you_ , dear Jacob, cannot change my mind.” 

They turned to walk down a side street, closed off to carriages and lined with shops. There was a distant roar of a train beneath the chatter of shopkeeper’s closing up and people ambling their way off to the local pub. Between the shops, Florence appeared to be counting the house numbers, leading Jacob to realise that she likely lived around-- 

“Here: my humble abode.” She gestured to a tall, slim home. The door was painted red and white flowers hung from the second and third floor’s windowsills. Curtains had already been drawn, though a soft glow still seeped through the rich, burgundy fabric. The first floor window was opened but only by a small amount, allowing the gentle aroma of the chicken dinner being served up inside to waft out to them. Jacob had to say: he was impressed. It wasn’t an extravagant home but a lot more than he expected from the bearded old lady and his less-than-arranged sister. 

Florence gave him a small smile and a bow of her head but before she could say anything, the front door opened, revealing Frederick in… _trousers?_ What a wonder: he actually looked quite normal, what with his waistcoat and a cup of tea in hand. 

Seeing them both at home, the similarities between the siblings finally settled in. They both had the same high-cheekboned structure of the face and, while Florence’s nose was slightly smaller, that little hump on the bridge seemed to be a family trait. Her eyes rounded in a similar way to Freddy’s, though her irises were a lighter shade entirely. It didn’t take away from their strikingly alike features, however, and it seemed to finally click in Jacob’s mind that they weren’t lying about growing up together, despite their personalities having taken different turns. 

“Florence, you’ve finally returned home--” Freddy mentioned, taking a step down onto the street. His dark eyes flickered to Jacob and his expression rather visibly dropped, “-- _with_ Mister Frye.” 

“Hello, Freddy.” He grinned, nodding his head at the older man. 

Frederick seemed to be absent for a few moments before gesturing to his sister with the cup between his fingers. “I heard what you both did today; I got the report as I was about to come home. Thank you for the _message_ with Mister Fullmore’s notebook, Florrie.” He gave her a sarcastic smile, a look of fatigue painted across the rest of his features. 

Florence huffed out a laugh. “You’re welcome, my dear brother. Now,” she turned back to Jacob and gave him the same smile as before, “thank you for walking me home, Mister Frye.” He frowned in mock hurt at her formality but the hand that came to his arm as a parting gesture undermined it. “If you ever feel like doing any sleuthing with me again, do come and visit.” 

“You can’t just invite people into our home, Florence.” Freddy piped up from behind her, obviously disgruntled with the pair’s growing friendliness. “I’ll tell Lissie to not open the door for him; if he needs anything, he can find _me_ elsewhere.” 

Her jaw shifted to the side slightly, annoyed with her brother’s interference. Her voice low, she mentioned: “My bedroom window is open most of the time if you wish to speak with me-- the third floor.” 

He gave a small nod, then took a few steps away, allowing Florence to return to the warm confines of her home. Freddy shuffled to the side, allowing his sister to step indoors, her body disappearing from Jacob’s view. 

Freddy took a sip of his tea. He looked like he was pondering whether to say something or not. His eyes flickered away from Jacob for a moment before he finally took a few strides toward the assassin. “Thank you for at least getting her home safe.” 

“It wasn’t a problem. Your sister makes for pleasant company.” Jacob gave one of _those smiles_ , effectively prodding the man before him. 

Freddy only gave a sigh in response. 

“Well,” Jacob threw his arms out at his sides, starting to walk backwards, “I’m off to have a few pints, rally some lads to our cause.” He raised a hand to salute goodbye to Frederick, a smug grin plastered onto his expression. “I’ll be sure to sing a bit of ‘ _God Save The Queen_ ’ in your honour, Freddy.” 

Freddy’s face dropped but, before he could say anything, Jacob had already left. 

Florence had settled at the dining table while her brother and Jacob said their goodbyes. Lissie perched on the seat beside her, ready to jump to her feet when Freddy returned. The older woman’s blue eyes were filled with excited light, one of her hands pressed lightly against the fabric of Florence’s skirts. “Who was that bloke, eh?” She grinned, tapping her mistress’ leg as if to try and poke some kind of gossip out of her. “He was quite the looker.” 

Florence breathed out a laugh, taking a sip of the wine that she had already poured for herself, avoiding Lissie’s prodding gaze. “His name is Jacob Frye and he was helping me with something today.” 

Lissie leant back, placing a hand over her chest. “That boy could help me _any day_.” 

The giggle that left Florence was the kind that came after a naughty joke, the dimple in cheek on show through the wine glass she tried to use to cover her grin. “You _minx_ , Felicity Marlowe.” 

The cook gave a hearty laugh, raising a suggestive eyebrow at Florence. “Is Mister Frye going to be visiting again?” 

“Not in any way that you would like. Probably only to help me with my little side-jobs, if at all.” Lissie furrowed her brows and, gesturing to the open doorway with her wine glass, Florence continued. “Freddy _apparently_ forbids it. He’ll tell you, later on, to not open the door for him if he knocks.” She took a sip then sucked in air through her teeth afterwards. “My dear brother wants to protect me from _ungentlemanly_ people, I suppose.” 

“ _Oh_ , but they’re the best kind of people, dear.” 

Florence laughed. “As I’ve begun to discover.” 

Freddy finally came back inside, having finished his tea now and looking rather peeved. “That was one time at the pub and I have asked you to drop it.” 

Florence gave Lissie a side glance, sipping her wine once more before setting it down on the dining table. The older woman returned the look then hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen. “It’s a funny story, Freddy; I didn’t mean any harm by it.” 

“That’s all well and good but he is my _colleague_ now; that’s like telling one of my men what--” 

“I likely have before.” 

Frederick paused, raising a hand to his forehead as if he could feel a headache coming on. There was silence for a few moments, during which only Florence’s cutlery clattered gently. Then, he sighed and took a seat across from her, interlocking his fingers on the surface of the table. 

He opened his mouth once, then tilted his head, reevaluating his words. Florence had yet to look at him, focused on carefully slicing the roasted potatoes before her. “You can’t--” 

She clenched her jaw and placed her cutlery down, a harsh stare now boring into her brother. “ _Don’t._ ” 

One of Freddy’s hands came out, trying to calm the storm before it could even properly form. “You can’t start getting involved with the Frye’s business.” She went to speak but he interrupted her. “You know how dangerous that can and _will_ be and I don’t want to have to write a letter to mother and father explaining how I couldn’t keep you on a safe path.” 

“I don’t plan to hop around rooftops and start _assassinating_ people with them, Frederick. I just want people to finally have fun with; I don’t care for sitting about, waiting for a husband to appear out of thin air.” He rolled his eyes, trying to think of a rebuttal, but it just made Florence angrier. “If anything, I am _helping_ you with what I do-- _unpaid_ \-- and, with Jac-- _Mister Frye_ \-- willing to go with me, you should feel more assured of my safety, not less.” 

“Do not think I haven’t noticed the mark on your cheek, sister. Did you magically hit yourself or was Mister Frye unable to protect you as he should’ve?” 

Florence stood from her seat, chair squeaking harshly across the wooden floor. Her hand reached for her wine glass and she threw the rest of the drink down her throat, slamming the glass down onto the table. “At least Mister Frye _was_ there, Freddy.” She narrowed her eyes. “You know how I hate it when you _dismiss_ me-- like I’m some kind of underling to the big sergeant. Maybe I should’ve stayed in Dorset; it’s not like you’ll allow me to do much else here in London.” 

Quiet fell between them. Florence sighed deeply. Her eyes told of regret of speaking so harshly to him but her mouth simply said: “Goodnight, Freddy” before she made her ascent up the stairs. 

Frederick was left at the table, staring at the tablecloth somberly, fiddling with his fingers. He should’ve been gentler with her. She was right; he let her move in with him because he knew of her unending desire for all things new and entertaining but he rarely approved of the things she suggested doing. Though, how could a brother allow his sister to run about, getting herself into situations where she could get hurt or, God forbid, _die?_

He would speak to her again another time-- a calmer time. Perhaps they could reach a middle where they would agree. Frederick took the opened bottle of wine from the end of the dining table and poured some into the glass Florence had left. 

He knew this wouldn’t be the last time she'd be seen with either of the Frye’s, despite his concerns. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the abberline siblings are just babey, i guess??? writing them briefly being angry at each other made me sad :((
> 
> be sure to leave your opinion or some suggestions down below so i can keep it interesting and whatnot!! also, hmu on my tumblr (@possiblypeachy) if you wanna have a light-hearted chat about anything ac: syn :))


	4. A Conflict of One's Own Interests

Freddy and Florence had spent the next few days having tense conversations between their self-isolation to their own bedrooms. There was a sense of regret that hung in the air but neither siblings seemed to want to speak of it. Florence, nerves too high to even stay in the same room as him for a while and worried that he would further draw attention to her mortal flaws, kept herself to reading. Freddy busied himself with paperwork and patrols until the late evening. That is until Lissie, fed up with their pride, sat them both down and commanded that they talk to one another, lest the cook quit and leave them to fend for themselves.

Oh, if she had a shilling for every time she’d had to do this since working for the Abberline’s, she’d have enough money to finally buy that necklace she’d always ogled on the way to the market. It was the way of siblings, she supposed: they always had to prove they were superior to the other in one way or another.

They had reconciled after a few moments of silence then them both leaning forward and mumbling an “I’m sorry” at the same time. Frederick admitted that perhaps his leash on her was too tight. Florence said that she understood that he was just trying to protect her. Her brother sighed tiredly, thankful that this was all over, and joked that at least she didn’t have to write about their bickering now in her letter to their parents. When she laughed, everyone could feel a weight lift off of the household. 

All was well with the Abberline’s once again.

That afternoon, after Freddy had left for work with a smile on his face for the first time in days, Florence had retired to her room, finally content enough with life that she could write a sufficient letter to her parents. Edward and Hannah Abberline were kind parents and especially lenient with their children, much to the dismay of other mothers and fathers of their rank. Their only condition for Florence to move into Freddie’s house in London was that she wrote regularly and that she at least try to find a nice man to marry. She was more than happy to uphold those terms.

The brunette was lucky that, when three knocks came to her bedroom window, her dip pen was away from the paper; with the way that she jolted in her seat, it surely would’ve ruined the page she had been writing on. A string of meowing began from her bed, her cat obviously peeved at the disruption to his sleep. When her gaze finally dragged to the window, half-expecting to see an insistent bird, she met eyes with Jacob, who’s grin told her that he found her surprise amusing.

Florence stood and slid the window up, letting Jacob haul himself inside. “The window is usually open; you didn’t have to knock.”

He dusted himself off, readjusting his coat. Before he could speak, the tabby cat to his left honked at him. Shocked, Jacob looked about before meeting the stare of perhaps the most tired-looking (and sounding) feline he’d ever seen. The cat yelled at him again and he gave Florence a look.

Florence scooped the cat up into her arms, much to its displeasure. “Don’t worry about Duncan. He likes to tell people off for disturbing him.”

Jacob chuckled. “He’s called Duncan?” He reached a hand out and Duncan sniffed it cautiously. 

“An urchin gave him to me a year or so ago. The poor child said that she wanted him to live a nice life with a nice lady. She said his name was Duncan.” Florence looked fondly down at the cat, who seemed to have now forgiven Jacob and was gently purring. When Jacob drew away, Duncan meowed and clawed his way up to balance on his owner’s shoulder, sniffing the air. Florence looked inconvenienced but decided to allow it, continuing to speak with Jacob. “What brings you here?”

“Adventure, dear Flor.” He had begun to peruse through her belongings, eyes scanning the letter she had been writing and the cat figurine on her desk. “You, me, the great city of London: are you up for it?”

Florence tutted, leaning to let Duncan hop down onto the bed from her shoulder, and shuffled Jacob away from her desk. “That’s not particularly specific. You could be planning on taking me somewhere nefarious like a…” She paused to think, during which Jacob was practically challenging her to say something terrible, “... brothel in _Whitechapel_.”

Jacob grimaced but huffed out a laugh. “Nothing of the sort. I don’t even know what that is, Miss Abberline.”

Florence nodded mockingly. “Of course, Jacob.”

“Anyway, before I let you _poison_ my mind with thoughts of brothels,” He gave her a pointed look, reaching down to scratch behind Duncan’s ear, and Florence grinned, “I thought that I could introduce you to a slice of _my_ world.”

Florence cooed, clapping her hands together, though her movements dripped of sarcasm. “ _Ooh!_ Are we going to derail a train together?”

His smile said ‘you cheeky mare’ but he continued before she had the chance to berate him further. “No, I was going to take you to a newly liberated _stronghold_. Evie and I run a gang, you know? Well, it’s more _me_ than Evie but--”

“Where?”

Jacob thought for a moment, like he’d forgotten its location entirely, before breaking out into a terrible smile. “ _Whitechapel_.”

Florence sighed but couldn’t hide the glint of excitement burning in her eyes. Gangs? _A stronghold?_ Goodness, it sounded like a piece from a gritty book or perhaps a play. How delightful! 

“I’ll come along but if I get pickpocketed you’re getting my money back, Jacob.”

“Certainly, dear lady.” He made a sweeping gesture to her bedroom door. “Shall we?”

\--

Florence hadn’t been expecting to venture into Whitechapel again for a good few months. Catching her brother and meeting the twins there a few days prior had been enough for her. Now, she never looked down upon the poorer; before her father had opened that little shop of his and gained a seat on the town’s council, their family of seven all squished into two rooms and lived off of scrimping. Rather, she felt terribly bad for wandering around perhaps the most impoverished area of London in full health with a warm meal being cooked for her at home. Of course, she didn’t feel sorry for the thugs on the streets that ruffed up those who already had nothing and simply saw them as even more of a reason to visit as little as possible.

When Jacob began to lead her down a dingy alleyway, he seemed unfazed by the drunk man passed out on the floor and… _was_ that his vomit beside him? Florence unconsciously began to walk closer to Jacob, a hand coming up to adjust her hat-- almost hoping that, if she moved it in a certain way, the shadow cast over her fast would hide it. “Are you certain we’re going the right way? Or, are you just leading me down here to test my resolve?”

He chuckled, giving a brief nod to a tall, bald man in a green jacket. “Why can’t it be both?” He stopped walking to let her go in front of him, gesturing for her to do exactly that with a sweep of his hand. 

Florence hummed, dissatisfied, but walked ahead of him anyway. She could feel that he was close behind, almost like he was making it painfully obvious that the well-dressed, middle-class lady was with him and not available to be robbed today. It brought her a small degree of comfort, though she couldn’t help but think of her brother’s disapproving glare. 

“Oh.” He muttered from behind her. She would’ve turned to look but she decided against it, not wanting to risk accidentally bumping into anyone strung about the narrow pathway. “I almost forgot. Here.” Jacob’s arm appeared at her side, palm upturned and holding the bird figurine from the market. Much to his delight, Florence made what sounded like a pleased little coo and took the sculpture from him, inspecting it with a collector’s eyes. “I went back to the market the other day and bought it; I thought you deserved a gift after the work you did.”

It was a sweet gesture and Florence couldn’t deny the happiness felt in her chest or the smile that immediately cracked her anxious demeanour. “That’s… quite kind of you, Jacob.” She ran a thumb over the intricately carved feathers then, in an effort to keep her newfound treasure safe, she pulled it closer to her body without much thought.

Jacob, however, grinned at this, seeing the amusing resemblance between her and a creature that hoards-- like a magpie or a squirrel. “You collect them, don’t you?”

Florence huffed out a laugh, allowing herself a brief glance over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “Yes, I do. They’re always beautifully crafted and they make a lovely addition to a mantlepiece or desk.” She paused for a moment, pondering. Then, she sighed. “I also collect coins, though they are a lot harder to come by and… I have a book in my desk drawer filled with stamps.”

“ _Stamps?_ ” He repeated, intrigued. Florence could hear amusement in his tone.

“Stamps.” She confirmed. Wanting anything but having to assess whether or not Jacob thought less of her for this, her sight stayed firmly on the path ahead. 

With a simple “I’ll keep an eye out, then” Florence felt altogether better about the situation. It wasn’t often that people simply left her be with her ridiculous collecting habits. She simply enjoyed the… _satisfaction_ that came with the task; she was _not_ a madwoman. 

Jacob was becoming more likeable by the minute. 

More and more people clad in green began to appear, all regarding Jacob with considerable amounts of respect and admiration. A few made comments about her, telling him that this was “ _no place to bring a bird like that_ ”, to which, from the corner of her eyes, she could see him throw up two fingers at them. A half-smile tugged at her lips, though she made no audible observations. 

They finally got to a small square behind four buildings. A few urchins ran about the place but most were men and women, dressed in green and chatting with one another or having what seemed to be playful brawls. A curious gaze dragged across the surroundings, slowly piecing the puzzle together. Flags of the same shade of green flew and, if she looked closely enough, she noticed that a symbol had been painted onto them: a bird holding a chess piece.

_A rook holding a knight._

“You and Miss Frye are the ones that rallied the Clinkers?” She spun around to look at him, face etched with awe. Florence gestured wildly to their surroundings. “I expected a little gathering of rogues and crooks not… _this_. From what I’ve heard, your new Rooks have been taking down Blighter territory left and right.” Jacob’s eyes were wide but he said nothing, unsure if she was excited to be here or more frightened. A few seconds passed, then Florence broke out into a grin, pointing a finger at him. “I’m impressed.”

The tightness in his shoulders left and he visibly relaxed, mirroring her expression. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Not compared to what I usually do.”

A nearby gang member-- a _rook_ \-- booed at him, though it was through a laugh. The man to her side shook his head, breathing out a chuckle through his nose. It was nice to see that there was such a strong sense of camaraderie between them all, despite them being up against huge and (until now) unbeaten opposition. Florence supposed that being united under two people so outwardly courageous and rallying for change that it would make any group be reinstilled with a sense of hope.

She tutted at him, chiding him for trying to take all the glory, but the smile that twisted at her lips told that she didn’t take him too seriously. “Don’t be a prick, Jacob; I didn’t venture here for you to take all the fame from your men.” He feigned offence, holding a hand to his chest. Clearly having just arrived at a stop on her train of thought, Florence tilted her head slightly, “Speaking of which, why did you bring me here? If you hope to enlist me, I’m afraid my days are all taken up with reading and looking for a husband-- you know, _the usual_.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile and a sarcastic dip of her head.

Jacob kissed his teeth. “A shame, really. Could’ve used a woman with your skill in…” he searched for something to fill the gap. Florence stared at him, a challenging light dancing in her eyes, “... _making men feel small_.”

She threw her head back, a glimpse of her signature, ridiculous laugh gracing the world. One of her fingers pointed at him and she nodded, “Not bad, Frye. Not bad. But,” Her giggling quietened down and she threw her arms up, as if to gesture to the square and its people, “besides making me feel all-powerful, why exactly have you decided to bring me here?”

“Well,” he began, moving toward a small alcove. There were a few sacks held up on sticks, littered with holes and slices. A crate beside them had a few practice weapons, though she was almost certain that, if she were to be hit over the head with that… wooden stick it would hurt. A lot. “I thought that, what with the mishap--” His eyes flickered to the fading bruise on her cheek, now a sickly yellow colour, and she grimaced, “-- the last time we were together, I might introduce you to extra forms of protection.” Jacob pulled a throwing knife so swiftly from his person that Florence had no idea where it actually came from. He turned it in his hand, fingers carefully holding the bladed end while the grip pointed toward her. “Protection besides a good kick to the bollocks, that is.”

Florence huffed out a laugh and took the knife from him, weighing it cautiously in her hand. “Freddy would go _insane_ if he saw me holding this.”

“Through fear or anger?”

“I’d take a _stab at both_.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, begging him to pick up on her pun.

He had indeed and gave a “ _ha, ha, ha_ ” in response, to which Florence shot him an overexaggerated frown. 

Jacob moved to stand beside her, his position forcing her to turn and face the mounted sacks. He pulled another knife out and her gaze flickered towards it. Florence seemed appropriately wary of the weapon and, without knowing, had begun to lean away from Jacob while he held it. His lips curled into a discreet smile upon noticing this but he said nothing; it’s better that she feels in control and comfortable when trying things like this. 

“The key to throwing one of this is the power in the wrist.” He rotated the knife around, letting the bladed end almost rest near his wrist. His thumb and first two fingers were at the grip, supporting it, though she could see how loose the hold was-- presumably to make it easier to throw the knife. Jacob looked to her and gestured with his head for her to copy his position. Florence pursed her lips, unsure if she was willing to risk accidentally cutting herself and facing her brother’s wrath, but, after a few moments of quiet deliberation, she did it anyway; she didn’t come all this way just to waste her and Jacob’s time. 

He gave her a smile so reassuring and kind that something skipped or bloomed or… _something_ in Florence’s chest and she had to look away. 

_No. We won’t be having any of that, Florence Abberline_.

“Then, once you’ve got a good hold on it, you use the flick of your wrist to--” Jacob threw the knife and, to her amazement, it landed in the centre of the sack, “-- throw it. It can be difficult to get the power right but, once you’re as good as me, you won’t have to think much.”

Florence gave him a harsh side glance. “You continue to gloat even when I’m holding a knife? You’re a foolish, _foolish_ man, Jacob Frye.”

He gave her a sly grin. “It appears you just make me lose all sense, dear Flor.”

Their eyes stayed locked for just a second too long and, in an attempt to distract them both, she threw the knife. Its trajectory was wobbly and the side hit the sack rather than the sharp end but, all in all, he had to admit that it wasn’t too bad; he’d seen some of the Rook initiates throw them worse than that. 

Jacob’s lips curled into one of those ‘ _not bad_ ’ frowns, brows darting skywards. Florence glowered at the fallen knife, never one to enjoy a loss. “Trying to make sense of one of these is _ridiculous_.” She sighed, pointing to the weapon in the dirt. “Can I not just use one of those as a… _normal weapon?_ ”

“It is a normal weapon.”

“ _Shut up_ \-- you know what I mean.”

As he went to collect the knife, he gave a chuckle. “I suppose you can but only as a last resort; it’s not made for close-range combat.” 

Florence huffed. “Well,” A light grew in her eyes, gaze flickering to Jacob. When he turned to face her again, he could tell that a thought was brewing; she had that same look when they first met, “if I were to ever fight someone further away from me, I would much prefer to use a gun.” She glanced down to his hips-- at the straps and holster that held his pistol. 

Jacob shook his head, clicking his fingers to draw her attention. “My eyes are up here.” 

She grinned, the dimple a deep crease in her cheek. There came a playful wink and a “What can I say? I like a man with who can _handle his pistol well_ ”. Innuendo dripped from her tone and he threw his head back to laugh. 

“Are you only using me for my gun, dear Flor?” Despite his words, he still pulled the weapon from its holster, checking the cylinder to see how many bullets were inside. He removed all but one. 

“If I am, you’re making it terribly easy.” A hand was on her hip when he handed the gun over to her, an impish smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “No resistance, Jacob? You seem like the type to treasure his weaponry.” Florence raised a brow, eyes raking over the pistol in her hand. 

He shrugged as she held it up toward the sacks, moving to lean beside a nearby wall to stay clear of… _whatever_ might happen when she shot it. “When a pretty lady offers to play with your gun,” Jacob scrunched his face up, pitch heightening, “you don’t tend to turn her down.” 

Florence cackled, leaning over herself to allow her shoulders to shake for a few moments. “You’re _terrible_.” 

“I do try.” He grinned. Then, one of his hands came out to gesture to the training area. “Right. Are you gonna shoot that or n-- _pass it back to me_.” 

“What? _Why_ \--” 

Jacob took a few urgent steps forward, leaning toward her with his palm open, “ _Pass it back_ \--” She heard his quietly curse under his breath and stand up straight-- almost too abruptly. He was facing the opposite direction to her now and, as she turned to see who was there, he uttered a devastating: “Hello, Evie.” 

Impending doom had appeared in the form of Evie Frye. 

Florence could tell that Jacob was caught in between a rock and a hard place with how his brain appeared to have dripped out of both of his ears and he was stood beside her, completely absent. Evie looked between the both of them. Florence hoped that her hat obscured some measure of her face but she also knew that Evie wasn’t an idiot. 

“Miss Abberline,” _Fuck_ , “I didn’t expect to see you here of all places. Don’t tell me that my brother dragged you here.” Evie already knew what was happening and that made it triply worse when Florence decided that the best thing to do in the situation was to lie. 

Pure desperation coursing through her veins, she grabbed the rook closest to her-- a skinny man in his mid-twenties-- and hooked her arm around his, shuffling herself so they looked like a couple. He didn’t look particularly convincing. “I was actually here to visit…” Florence looked into the bloke’s eyes, her lips drawn into a thin line and her expression panicked. He said nothing and she quietly kissed her teeth, “... _Paul_. He’s enchanting and I can barely keep myself away--” 

“My name is Terrence.” 

Beside her, Jacob’s hand flew up to his forehead and he turned away from the pair of them, breathing out a heavy sigh. Evie still stared at Florence, who had frozen in the face of her badly made lie falling apart. 

In one last attempt to redeem herself, Florence slapped Paul’s-- _Terrence’s_ \-- arm in the same way a wife would when she has to laugh at her husband’s joke. “Don’t be so _silly_ , my love.” She gave Evie a smile, to which the assassin returned but it seemed impatient and altogether unconvinced-- like she was simply trying to speed up her breaking point. 

“Good old _Paul_ likes to mess about to try to get Miss Abberline all flustered. He says that her blush is beautiful, isn’t that right Paul?” Jacob joined the fight again, though there was a dimness to his hazel eyes that told Florence that he already knew his sister had won. 

Paul frowned. “I just said my name is Terrence. And, why is this woman holding onto my arm?” Florence and Jacob cursed in unison. A smile twisted at the gangly man’s lips, however, when he finally gave Florence a proper look over. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind having a go on a posh bird. You got any plans for tonight, love?” 

Disgusted, Florence yanked herself away from him and crossed her arms below her chest. Jacob grimaced beside her and, with a flick of his hand, gestured for Terrence to leave. The man in question went into a sulk and began to kick dirt up as he disappeared around the corner. 

“Are you finished?” Evie glanced between them. The pair said and did nothing, which Evie took as a ‘yes’. She pointed a finger to Jacob. “I need to speak with you about something important so you should--” 

“Is it about the gang war, Miss Evie?” One of the rooks piped up from a few feet away, having just strolled into the middle of the chaos-filled alcove. 

Jacob perked up at Florence’s side. “The _what?_ ” 

Before Evie could ask the rook to be quiet, they had already started to speak again, “Kaylock has agreed to a fight over Whitechapel. Whoever wins owns the borough.” 

He grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. “That sounds perfect.” Hazel eyes flickered between Florence and his sister. Both women seemed to anticipate his departure before it even began. “Sorry ladies but I have a borough to become king of.” He looked to the rook, who gestured loosely in the fight’s direction. Jacob nodded and was off on his way, musing “ _King Jacob_ : sounds good, doesn’t it?” as he passed the girls by, pinching the gun back from Florence. 

Florence, finding the whole thing quite amusing, began to laugh quietly, while Evie at her left simply gave a sigh. Blue eyes dragged over to the smaller woman and she raised a brow, gesturing to the direction he left in. “One of the many reasons why _anyone_ should just stay at home if Jacob invites them out.” 

“I think his passion is inspiring.” 

“Not when you’ve lived with it your whole life.” Evie gave her a solemn look. 

Florence breathed out a chuckle, shaking her head. “You and Freddy would get along well.” 

Evie, all things considered, didn’t regard Miss Abberline in a negative light; her apparent desire for adventure and little escapades through London didn’t work to destabilise something greater-- like the reckless decisions Jacob had the tendency to make. She only worried that having her brother form some kind of hopeless attachment to Florence would hinder any progress that he might make and keep him perpetually senseless. 

A softer look gracing her features now, Evie gestured for Florence to walk with her. “I think, now that my brother has abandoned you, we should get you home, Miss Abberline. Will Sergeant Abberline be back by the time you arrive?” 

Florence pondered then her answer came by way of an inconvenienced frown. “If he’s on his break, maybe. Knowing my luck, he will be.” 

They finally reached the main street and Evie seemed to search for a carriage. Briefly, she turned to regard Florence, an eyebrow raised. “I heard that Sergeant Abberline didn’t seem particularly happy when you returned home last Tuesday. Has it passed?” 

“This morning, actually.” Florence confirmed. “Lissie made us reconcile; she threatened to leave if not.” 

“Your sister?” Evie asked, nodding her head toward a carriage parked on the other side of the road. 

Florence followed after her, allowing a light laugh. “No. If anything, she’s more like an over-enthusiastic aunt. Lissie is our live-in cook. She tends to help me like a handmaid, though.” 

For the first time, Florence heard Evie’s genuine laugh. Her grin formed in the same way that Jacob’s did but wasn’t given out as freely as he tended to. Reaching the carriage, she gave Florence a hand to help her up onto it before clambering into the driver’s seat herself. “Well, this Lissie sounds like a good woman.” 

“Ah,” Florence smiled, huffing out a giggle, “only sometimes. I think she enjoyed when I moved in with Freddy; it gave her someone more lively to gossip with.” 

Evie hummed, amused, then silence fell over them both for a small while, leaving Florence to gaze out at the changing boroughs of London and let her thoughts run loose. No matter what her mind tried to focus on-- the book she had been reading, the play her and Freddy were due to attend at the end of the week, the dress she so desperately wanted to buy-- all lines seemed to lead back to Jacob and the (albeit limited) actions they’d had throughout the past few days. It was ridiculous to have suddenly become fixated on this one man. He knew nothing about her and she knew just as little about him. Yet, the thought of him persisted. 

_Was it him? Or the adventure that came from him?_

She began to chew on the inside of her lip, thumbs playing with one another in her lap. 

Liking and love were not for Florence. She had tried love once and declared that that would be her last time. A life without that burden was liberating, she’d always told herself. It’s why she despises the idea of getting married and having someone always able to hold onto her reins. It was a useless endeavour and would not serve her in any way that she would like. It would suffocate and surround her. That’s what she’ll always tell herself. 

_She liked the adventure he caused._

“Miss Abberline?” Evie called over her shoulder and Florence straightened up again but her head was still spinning. The hum she gave would’ve been a voice break. “I think…” Evie gave a sigh, “I think it would be in everyone’s best interests if you don’t _indulge_ my brother. He’s-- he needs to focus on our plans in London. We are working for the better of the people and being close to him-- _us_ \-- could put you in a _delicate_ position.” 

Of course. 

"It's obvious that he enjoys the time spent with you and already counts you among one of his friends but I just..." Evie sucked a breath in through her teeth, leading the horses neatly around a corner, "He hasn't yet realised the gravity of our situation. He just needs to _focus_." 

_Of course. Of course. Of course._

It was really beginning to grate on Florence: the fact that everyone wanted her to leave something or another alone. Freddy wants her to stop her business in helping him. Her parents want her to stop messing around and find a husband. Now, Miss Frye wants her to stop interfering with herself and Jacob’s plans. It was only ever ‘ _stop_ ’ and never a push-- an encouragement to ‘ _go_ ’. 

Frustration rioted in her blood. Her hands were shaking. They held each other tighter. 

Maybe they were right. Perhaps it would be easier for everyone if she stopped doing and simply let herself _be_. Freddy only wanted her to be safe and _sane_. Evie was saying this to protect her and keep London’s best future on the cards. It wasn’t selfish of _them_ to ask; it was selfish of _her_ to disregard. 

It was considerate, the part of her mind that wasn’t fire and brimstone thought-- _soothed_. 

“That sounds fine, Miss Frye.” 

It’s for the best, the growing calm of her thoughts said in an effort to pacify. 

“You have a fair reason for asking.” 

All will be well and fine, her mind-- now having ceased its chattering-- assured. 

“I’ll let him down gently.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Florence is... just babie. she's been told her whole life to just 'calm down' and 'stop' and, as she's gotten older, it's imprinted on her more and more. it's like the part of her mind that fights for her own freedom and life has slowly been chipped away and replaced by the more proper woman that society wants. a.k.a. she's in a constant battle between submission and breaking free of the mould set for her, which i'll be playing with as certain things progress more.
> 
> also !!!!!!! no falling in love for her !!!!!! she thinks its stupid and lame but that's just bc baby got her heart broken beforehand and doesn't want to deal with the healing process again. let's make that change, eh? ;)
> 
> as always, feel free to give me your thoughts in the comments or on tumblr (@possiblypeachy) and i'll respond to them with vigour and joy (or, i'll try at least)!!


	5. Good Looks Are Not Equal To A Good Heart

The headache from her and Evie’s last conversation had not yet left her. It had certainly done a number on her; even Freddy shot the occasional concerned glance toward Lissie over dinner when Florence displayed too much politeness. It was not her— this well-mannered, _tame_ woman— but it is what everyone had wanted of her, so who was she not to give it to them? It was a shame, whatever spirits that watched over her thought, that such a sharp woman had been dulled— like a blade without its care.

She had taken to reading more often, finding that the public library was a quaint enough place for a woman of _her status_. Now that she had put a barrier between herself and adventure, sitting down with a good book was about as far into her wildest dreams that Florence could delve. While at home, Duncan brought her comfort— even if he seemed to always have that scowl on his face. When the weather would be too terrible to think of going for a walk, he and Florence would sit together near the windowsill, looking for any birds that had the misfortune of flying that day. 

Duncan was doing just that, a breeze from the opened window ruffling his whiskers, while his owner read quietly at her desk. She had been mulling over Pride and Prejudice (a terrible book to read when one wants to remove themselves entirely from romance, but it had always been one of Florence’s favourites so she had allowed it) when the tabby began to yowl behind her. She ignored him for a time, now using a finger to trace underneath the lines of writing to keep her focus on the book. The sound of him leaping from the windowsill to the bed was the next thing that broke her concentration. That, and the fact that he continued to meow. 

With a sigh, Florence’s shoulders slumped and she paused in her reading. “Duncan, lovely, be quiet; mama’s trying to read.” 

“Oh, we’ll try to be quieter. Sorry.”

When it felt like her soul rose from its very body, she lost the page of her book and slammed her hand down onto the desk. A harsh, through-the-teeth “ _shit!_ ” slipped from her lips and her head hung closer to her body, eyes closed. It was quiet for a few moments, save for a gentle chuckling. Then, Duncan meowed again and Florence finally turned her head, eyes being greeted by her cat leaning into Jacob’s hand, chirruping quite happily with the scratching his head was getting. “You didn’t think to even say ‘ _hello_ ’ as you came in? Give the window frame a knock?” She rubbed a hand across her brow, huffing out a breath. “You could’ve killed me.”

“ _Someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Jacob observed. She heard him take a seat on the bed behind her. Duncan’s purring didn’t cease. In fact, it sounded almost like he had begun to knead the man’s thighs, preparing to, presumably, fall asleep upon them.

Now, one mustn’t discount Duncan the cat as an unimportant element of this story. He had always been a good judge of character, like his human ‘mother’, but had the luck of being born into a feline’s body, meaning no one really expected much from him. On one occasion, one of Freddy’s colleagues had appeared at the door, smelling of liquor, near to the witching hour. Both siblings were still awake; Frederick was preoccupied with some manner of paperwork and Florence had been with Lissie, giggling next to the fireplace over a bottle of wine. Freddy, too polite and concerned for the man’s safety, let him stay in the spare bedroom in the basement until morning, much to Lissie’s (who now had to sleep in a room adjacent to the bloke) displeasure. Duncan, not liking the way he carried himself-- or stood dangerously close to his paws, took it upon himself to make that night a living hell. The man got all of about two hours sleep, constantly interrupted by a hissing tomcat and a fair few bites to the ankles. Lissie was disappointed to see that Duncan had also taken it upon himself to _mark his territory_ in the corners of the room. 

‘ _How does this relate to the tale at hand?_ ’ you ask. Well, Duncan will have you know that that ankle-bitten man ended up breaking a family heirloom out of pure carelessness the next morning and was later discharged from the police force for ‘abuse of power’. Then, he would like to remind you that he is a _good judge of character_.

Florence knew this, having cared for the dastardly cat for long enough now, which made it so much worse when Duncan had decided that Jacob wasn’t just a good person to have around-- in fact, he was _splendid_. He’d never had a head scratch like that before!

Her own cat was betraying her to hasten her realisation of the goodness before her. 

_Terrible._

“I woke up on a _perfectly_ fine side of--” Florence bit on her own words, pulling the stress in her voice back by a leash. Her jaw clenched. “Why are you here, Mister Frye? I don’t have any leads on work and--”

“ _Ouch_.”

She steeled her expression before turning to look at him, hands clamped onto the back of her chair. “What?”

Jacob frowned slightly. Something seemed to be settling in. “Why are you angry with me?”

Upon seeing his genuine worry, Florence’s gaze softened for a moment but, when a flood of reminders to become a better woman flushed her mind, her attention flickered away from him. It returned once more and the honey of her eyes was now hard like bronze. “I’m not _angry_ with you. I’m just preoccupied--”

“With what? Reading--” He moved to peer over her shoulder and, before she could shuffle the book away from his prying sight, he finished with a “-- _Pride and Prejudice?_ ” Jacob shot her an incredulous look, brows knitted together, and she looked away. “The Florence I know wouldn’t be… like this.”

Florence swallowed, refusing to look back at him. “Well, perhaps the Florence _you know_ is not who I truly am. Sorry to _disappoint_ , Mister Frye.”

Silence. 

Jacob studied her. There was a hint of… _something_ in her eyes: _doubt? Insecurity?_ She wrung her hands together as she went to turn away from him again and it clicked: “Someone has said something to you.”

She felt her stomach flip. Duncan had stopped purring. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“They have, haven’t they? That’s why you’ve started to do all these… _ladylike_ things. Reading, sewing--” He gestured to the broken shirt hung over a nearby chair, “-- and I can tell that you haven’t been out yet today; the bottom of your dress isn’t dusty.”

If one listened closely enough, they could almost hear Florence huff out a laugh. “I do ‘ _ladylike things_ ’ most of the time; it’s what people want of me.”

He groaned. “But it’s not what _you_ want, is it?” 

She went quiet. In an attempt to comfort, Duncan leapt from the bed to the chair, balancing awkwardly before wobbling down onto her lap. 

“What did they say?”

Florence felt her resolve weakening. _He was too nice to her_. “You should probably be elsewhere. You have important things to do for the better of London and I’m not well-enough equipped to help with that.”

All the pieces fell into place and he rolled his head to one side, gaze following his movement. “They’ve put it into your head that you’re not… _assassin-y_ enough to spend time with me?” She gave him one look that said all he needed to know. “ _Bullshit_.” The way in which he contorted his face forced Florence to hide a smile. _Damn him_. “I have had drinks with _Charles Dickens_ and he is far less capable than you are.”

Hazel eyes bore into her like a fishing hook with her growing grin being the catch. The sight that met his again was warmer-- more like her. “You have not gone to the pub with _Charles Dickens_.”

Jacob finally gave a smile-- one that they often shared together. “Of course I have! He’s--”

“Oh, _fuck off_. Don’t you dare lie to me, Jacob Frye.”

He leant his head back to chuckle, a weight lifting off of his chest. “He’s part of a Ghost Club; Evie and I joined it.”

Florence giggled, moving her head to the side as if to keep it from his view. “You’re just digging yourself further into a grave with the stone above it engraved as ‘liar’. I mean, a _Ghost Club?_ ” She nodded mockingly at him, eyes narrowed and mouth drawn into a tight smile. “Of course.”

“I’ll take you one day, if only to prove my innocence. I reckon you’d like a good ghost hunt.” 

The little rev of Duncan’s chest had returned upon feeling his owner’s body and soul relax beneath him. One of Florence’s hands moved to stroke him gently, content. She felt better-- like she had control again. Perhaps acting differently to how you are is a terrible decision after all. 

It was quiet for a small while, during which Jacob simply watched Florence and Duncan, feeling much better about his visit today. Then, she opened her mouth like she was going to say something but stopped herself with a smile. He cocked his head and she sighed, sounding almost relieved. “Thank you, Jacob. Really. I have felt--”

“It’s no problem.” There was a pause. “It’s nice to get away from all the assassin business sometimes. One might call you ‘an escape’.”

“Refreshing like a holiday to the seaside, am I?” Florence raised a brow. Jacob was glad to see the dimple in her cheek again.

He smiled that devious little smile of his. “I wouldn’t know. We’ll have to go together someday, dear Flor.”

She swallowed that rising feeling in her chest and gave a small nod, an impish light flickering wickedly in her eyes. “Certainly-- if my brother allows it.”

“Well,” Jacob clicked his tongue, his lips straightening into a line, “we can kiss goodbye to that idea then.”

Florence hummed, agreeing. It would be terribly scandalous for a young, unmarried woman such as herself to be seen on holiday with a man-- a man below her station, at that. What was she? Some kind of _lady of the night?_ Those were words she could hear her eldest sister, Harriet, say; she had liked Florence and her ‘ _feminism_ ’ about as much as one likes vomit on their doorstep.

“Everything from before aside,” She began, veering the conversation elsewhere. She sounded kinder now, “what brings you to my humble abode, Jacob?”

He paused for a moment, thinking. Then gave a positively confused look. “I’m not sure actually. I was just passing by and thought that I’d pop in, I suppose.” His mouth formed a lopsided grin when he glanced down to Duncan. “I just couldn’t stay away from little Dee and his charms.”

“Is it impossible for you _not_ to give something a nickname?” Florence asked, exasperated. Duncan seemed fairly happy with the new name, however, made clear in a tired, little ‘ _mrreow!_ ’ from her lap.

“It makes life more interesting. Plus,” Jacob had that look again-- like he lived to annoy, “the best part of my day is hunting down your brother and calling him anything but ‘sergeant’.” 

Florence gave a laugh at this; what kind of sibling would she be if she didn’t find joy in her brother’s misfortune? It wasn’t _her_ problem that he had decided to ally with the Fryes. 

With a little sigh, she patted Duncan off of her lap and stood, trying her best to brush the cat fur from her skirt. Although the furrow of her brows was disgruntled, when she glanced at Jacob, her eyes spoke of contentment. “Right then, Jacob. Time spent here is time wasted. Why don’t we go for a walk?”

“Only if you hold my arm like a damsel pining for me.” Jacob raised a brow, eyes wide and an arm held out like the offer he made was meant to be tantalizing.

Florence huffed a laugh out through her nose, shaking her head. “You really do push your luck, Jacob Frye.”

“Oh, but it’s a tempting offer, isn’t it? I have been told that I have a strong arm.”

“By who? The many other women you have doting on you?”

Jacob grinned. “So you count yourself among them? How lovely.”

Florence raised a hand as if to slap his arm and he flinched away, laughing. She gave him a chiding look, though the effect was negated with how her eyes squinted when she smiled, and left the room, leaving him to follow her down the stairs.

* * *

Florence had indeed succumbed to the offer of holding his arm as they walked. She insisted that it was to prevent her from becoming a victim of her own clumsiness but Jacob had dismissed that with an unconvinced “ _of course_ ” and a shit-eating grin.

Walking this closely to him had brought her to the realisation that he was quite a bit taller than her. When he spoke, she noticed that she had to crane her head up a bit to look at his face and, upon coming about this discovery, she soon decided to simply look ahead when replying, as to keep him from realising this debilitating advantage over her. It also birthed the thought of: Good Lord, Evie Frye is a _tall_ woman. Florence classed herself as ‘an average build and height’ for a woman living about London but Evie seemed to just take the cake. Perhaps the air in Crawley encouraged growth?

Their conversation had been idle and quaint for a while, consisting of curious questions about one another. He had learnt that her favourite colour was blue, though she had barely enough dresses in the shade. Florence spoke of her siblings-- all four of them, to which Jacob mentioned he could hardly imagine having one other Evie, let alone _three_. While speaking of her childhood, there was a brief, melancholic mention of a man called ‘Thomas’ but she breezed over it so quickly that he barely had time to ask about.

She had learnt that the shilling he kept around his neck was a memento of his youth and some kind of good luck charm. When she had asked about his scars, Jacob gave a rather nondescript account of the death of a target ending in a terrible barfight. Florence had worried at him about it, despite it having been an incident years past, but it brought a fond little smile to his face, that _feeling_ squeezing in his chest. 

All had been well until they had arrived at a dock in Lambeth. There was a small commotion near some salesman and, as soon as they both heard “Starrick”, Jacob began to tug them closer to the source of the fuss. In an effort to help him better move, Florence pulled her arm away from his and hurried along behind him, muttering apologies to anyone who had the misfortune of being in their way. 

_Starrick’s Soothing Syrup?_ What a ridiculous product to sell. She supposed he did have a hand in every industry in London but, goodness, that just didn’t seem safe.

A woman had started a row with the man, pointing angrily to a rather… _unhealthy_ looking man behind her. He seemed to be on the verge of violence-- _so did the lady, if one speaks honestly_ \-- so Jacob, giving a brief gesture for Florence to stay there, moved towards them. Immediately, upon Jacob uttering a few words, the bloke pulled a knife on him, to which he swatted hit away. Despite the danger, Florence gave a little laugh; it was clear that a little shiv would be the least of Jacob’s concern. It was then that the salesman was off, running down the dock. 

Jacob sighed, then turned to look between Florence and the woman, saying a simple: “If you’ll excuse me, ladies” before sprinting off himself. 

The pair of women stood in silence for a few moments, simply staring after him. 

“Your fella is quite the athlete.” The woman broke the silence, sight flickering toward Florence.

Florence gave a small smile, bemused by the whole ordeal. “I… suppose he is.” Her brows were furrowed, unconvinced of her own stance, and the woman gave her a strange look before moving away to the sick man a few metres back. 

_Well_.

She stood on the Lambeth docks for a while longer, unsure of what to do with herself.

Perhaps a visit to the library would be fine.

* * *

Florence had come to enjoy the library, regardless of whether or not she was there to appear more womanly or not. It was quiet and smelt of old books-- a scent that she thinks not enough people give credit to. Only rarely was she disturbed and most often it was by the librarian’s assistant; she was the librarian’s wife and looked so much like a sweet, little mouse that Florence could whole-heartedly say that she would trust the woman with her life, despite only having spoken to her a handful of times.

Having ran her fingers along the spines of books for long enough, Florence finally pulled from the shelf ‘ _The Woman in White_ ’ and took a seat at a nearby table, nestled into the corner of the building beside a window. There were only a few other people around: a pair of ladies a few tables across, the librarian organising the shelves; if all went as she wanted, she would go undisturbed for the couple of hours she would stay here.

However, a few chapters into her book, her plans seemed to have been sabotaged.

“ _She was a Fairy, a Sylph, I don’t know what she was - anything that no one ever saw, and everything that everybody ever wanted._ ”

Florence placed a thumb on the page she was at and looked up. She met a pair of brilliantly green eyes-- like a meadow begging to be explored. The owner of the eyes gave her a small, gentlemanly smile and nodded to the seat across from her, silently asking to sit. 

She gestured to it as acceptance then glanced at the book he held in his hands. “ _David Copperfield_.”

The man nodded. “Indeed. One might think that Dickens looked to you for inspiration for those words.”

Now, Florence was never one to turn down compliments directed at her. In fact, some might say that the young woman had somewhat of an ego heaving along with her. Though, it was rare to be so openly and publicly _worshipped_ by a man so… _beautiful_. If his eyes had not already been enough to intrigue her, the gentle curl of his blonde locks made a part of her being swoon. He had a strange kindness to his features, what with the permanent upward curl of his lips and the graceful glint he held in his gaze. 

Well, if she was to marry someone, he may as well look like _that_.

“Might I ask your name, sir?” Florence’s head tilted somewhat, the smile that her mother had taught all of her daughters carefully drawn upon her lips.

Now sat across from her, he closed the book and interlocked his fingers in front of him, gaze never leaving hers. It was almost overwhelming how dutifully he kept eye contact. “Willard Molyneux-Herbert, madam-- third son to the Earl of Carnarvon.” He held a hand out and Florence placed her own within his grip. Willard, that quirk to his lips still there, drew her hand upwards and placed a gentle kiss to the back of it. “A pleasure.” 

Florence had to look away for a moment to quell the rising heat in her cheeks but Willard appeared to have already noticed this and had a rather pleased, feline grin painted across his features. She silently chided herself; she _would not_ be the blushing maiden. _She would not_.

“I’m afraid I don’t have as much grandeur to my name, Mister Molyneux-Herbert.” Willard quirked a brow upwards, asking her to continue regardless. “I’m Florence Abberline. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”

Upon hearing her name, _something_ in his eyes changed but the softness to his expression never left. She stopped herself from narrowing her eyes at this difference in demeanour. “Florence is a beautiful name, Miss Abberline. It’s root, I believe, is Latin: _floreo_ \-- meaning ‘ _to flourish or blossom_ ’. It is suiting for a woman so much like a flower herself.” 

“Well,” Florence began, her mind slowly beginning to unpick his mood and mannerisms piece by piece, “I’m sure Willard has just as lovely of a meaning--”

“‘ _Strong desire_ ’. Willard means ‘ _strong desire_ ’.” His eyes were boring into hers and something began to unsettle Florence. He was very… full-on; even the women from the table nearby had gone into frenzied whispering about their interactions. _What would Freddy say?_

Silence fell over them for a few moments and now his eyes, rather than meadows, felt more like pits to fall in. That smile hadn’t yet left either; he looked like a wolf-- _a predator_. Why was he speaking with her? A library was _not_ the place to try to court a woman. Florence couldn’t help but feel as if something darker was afoot.

_If Duncan was here, she was sure that he’d agree._

One of her hands moved down to rub her clammy palm against her dress, though her expression showed no sign of discomfort. If anything, she made herself look more like a flustered young lady, eyes rather daringly studying each aspect of his face. Willard seemed to revel in this. “What brings you to my corner of the library, Mister Molyneux-Herbert?”

For a moment, the man appeared to be taken aback by the query. She could see him rack his mind for an answer before smoothly replying with: “When one is perusing the library’s stock and sees such a beauty between the shelves, they shouldn’t dismiss the opportunity to introduce themselves.”

Florence’s mind drifted to Jacob; he was forward but… _not like this_. His way exuded charm and the kind of playfulness that was born from a want for friendship-- _companionship_. Willard, despite his physical perfection, had something _dangerous_ lurking beneath the surface, she was sure of it.

_Or was she?_

Perhaps she was just being paranoid. He had been nothing but kind since first speaking to her. Maybe this was just how men acted while courting someone properly? Florence, herself, had never experienced a formal process of ‘courting’, though she could barely see how love could come from such hungry stares. She felt small near him-- like she was a woman beneath him-- but she couldn’t deny the draw of Willard’s beauteous aura.

“You are very forward, sir.” She observed. Florence’s eyes now fought against his for dominance; she had finally found her feet once again. Half of her hoped that her straightening posture would weaken his resolve but if anything it seemed to egg him on-- the acceptance of a challenge gleaming in his eyes. 

“One must be if they are to have any chance with a lady such as yourself, Miss Abberline. I imagine you have all manner of suitors knocking at your door.” The way in which he said that felt almost insincere-- _mocking_.

Florence smiled sadly, though she felt none of the true emotion. “You think too highly of me, Mister Molyneux-Herbert.”

“I do not think highly _enough_ of you, madam. Say,” a brow quirked upwards and he unclasped his hands, showing both of his palms to her as if to ask if she would take them in her grasp, “would it be too brash of me to ask for you to meet me here once again tomorrow? There is not enough time left for me today to truly convince you of your own splendour.”

Florence had not yet taken his hands and, with the way his fingers twitched, he seemed to be getting increasingly agitated by the prospect of being turned down. However, when a courteous smile graced her features, he relaxed somewhat. “Certainly. I’ll be here again at midday, if that suits your needs.”

“Anything you do shall suit my needs, my lady.” He grinned in that wolfish way again and Florence bit back a grimace, rather replacing it with a blush to the cheeks and a shy look away. Willard was pleased with that. “It pains me to say it but I must be off. I have parliamentary business to attend to--” he glanced to her as he stood, hoping that his flash of power would weaken her knees, “-- and a dinner party to host tonight. I shall see you again tomorrow.” He gave a small nod of his head and, with that, was away-- a pride to his stride that made Florence frown behind him. 

Rather appropriately, a bout of goosebumps arose on Florence’s arms upon being left in the wake of his being. Something wasn’t right but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. He was undoubtedly a charming man and took the hearts of many women (the ladies to her left seemed quite taken with him, whenever jealousy wasn’t dampening their expression) but there was something ungodly about him-- about the way he ate her with his eyes. She would have to tell Freddy about this when she got back home, though she doubted he would--

“Excuse me, miss?” The librarian’s assistant coaxed her from her daze by waving a small slip of paper before her. Florence blinked herself away from her thoughts and gave the sweet young woman a smile, asking her to continue. “Have you dropped this? I found it on the floor near the table as I was tidying.”

“ _No, that isn’t mine_ ” is what she should’ve said, had she not been a woman who enjoyed noseying through other people’s possessions. Instead, she gave a laugh, as if to say ‘ _oh, silly me!_ ’ before taking the paper from her. Honey eyes flickered down to it briefly but she simply mentioned: “Thank you, Miss. I couldn’t have left without this” before standing from her seat and hurrying out of the library.

Now out on the street-- Willard not in sight-- Florence began to unfold the paper, walking rather determinedly toward the bridge to cross the Thames. Despite Willard having been the son of an Earl, his handwriting was terrible, though she suspects it was all written in haste. 

_Oh_ , Florence had a beautiful degree of luck.

It was a slip of paper with answers to enquiries about Frederick Abberline written upon it: his schedule, where he lived, who he lived with. Florence’s own name and the word ‘ _sister_ ’ had been circled a great number of times, alongside a small scribbling that she frequented the library as of late. A shiver shot up her back; someone had been watching her? How… _concerning_. 

At this point, she decided that it was likely in her best interest to get into a carriage the rest of the way home, lest she get kidnapped off of the street. Upon paying for a driver, Florence settled into her temporary safety and continued to examine the slip. Near the end, his writing was illegible but, with much difficulty, she was able to make out the words ‘revenge’ and something about Willard’s brother. She gave a thoughtful hum, flicking the corner of the sheet with her index finger until all the dots connected-- well, connected as well as they could.

If she could recall correctly, Freddy, about a month ago, had mentioned about the arrest of quite an upper-class man-- a doctor. He had been doing decidedly inhumane things and was detained in his own home, much to the chagrin of his family. One of his brothers-- _maybe Willard?_ \-- had been aggressively vocal throughout the whole ordeal, though Freddy never gave any names during his brief account of the scene. She would have to discuss this with her brother when she finally got home.

_Perhaps herself and Jacob would be working together again soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was basically me cooing over Duncan bc he's a lovely cat and everyone should consider him Florence's sidekick. 
> 
> this is when the real intrigue begins!! (a.k.a. when Flor is at the centre of a big plot herself) i'm excited about this bc, as i'm checking these scenes off of the plan i've written, we're slowly getting closer to fluffier scenes and those are my favourite to write. (there is one big bout of angst, however, and i'm quite excited for that too lmao)
> 
> like always, if you enjoyed please do comment and give me some feedback!! if you would prefer, you can contact me on tumblr (@possiblypeachy) too!


	6. An Interrupted Rendezvous

“Freddy?”

Florence took the hat she had been wearing and placed it on the table beside the door, haste dictating each of her movements. From placing cutlery on the dining table, Lissie gave her a sidewards glance, an eyebrow quirking upwards, but said nothing yet; if there was to be a quarrel, they could get it all out first before registered pacifier, Felicity Marlowe, would step in.

“ _Freddy?_ ” For a young woman raised from birth to be delicate and heavenly, Florence sure did have a set of lungs on her. If Frederick hadn’t heard her shouting from downstairs yet, he might as well have been deaf. Even Lissie flinched back at her volume.

Floorboards creaked above them. Lissie stifled a laugh when a loud sigh could be heard at the top of the stairs. When Freddy’s face finally emerged from behind the corner, practically dragging himself down the stairs, she had to leave the room, lest she further irritate the man.

“You’re doing an _excellent_ job of annoying the neighbours, my dear sister.” He observed, trudging toward the dining table to take a seat. Florence did the same, taking a spot right in front of him. After flattening and smoothing her skirts down, she leant forward on the table, hands clasped together just before her bowl. Upon noticing the seriousness in her posture, a worry began to grow within him. He gave a quick glance down to her interlocked fingers and noticed a slip of white between the gaps. “What’s this about?”

The fingers of Florence’s right hand dipped behind those of the left and emerged with a piece of paper-- evidence of her escapades. She slid it across the table toward her brother. “I met a lovely man in the library today; he was all charm and smiles. He even quoted some of Dickens’ work to _woo_ me.”

Brows pulled downwards, Freddy took the slip of paper though had yet to look at it. “And, you think this is a world-ending problem why? Should he have quoted Shakespeare instead?”

She rolled her eyes and thrusted her still interlocked hand toward the note. “Read the bloody note, Fredd--”

“ _Hey!_ Elbows off the table.” Lissie, who had adopted a particularly maternal tone, scolded as she waddled over with the steaming pot of stew. It landed with a jarring thump! down onto the table beside them both. A tea towel hit Florence’s arm and she yelped, eyes meeting the blue of Lissie’s. “You should know this, lovely.”

Florence gestured between herself and Freddy. “He and I have something important to discuss; I think I should be allowed to put my elbows wherever I please, _mother_.”

Lissie chortled at her immaturity. “Your elbows are your own until food appears on this table. As soon as that happens, I’m afraid that I--”

“ _Revenge?_ ” Both women stopped in their bickering to look at Freddy, who’s gaze dragged from the paper to his sister. His expression contorted, lips parted and brows knitted together as if speechless. “What does that mean, Florrie? What’s the man’s name?”

Lissie let out a small sigh when Florence leant toward her brother, elbows on the table, but began to spoon out the stew anyway, leaving the siblings to speak without her pestering. 

“Willard Molyneux-Herbert.” The name rolled off of her tongue like a thick poison. “Ring any bells?” 

She could see Freddy visibly dragging himself through his memories, gaze focused over her shoulder and into the past. Florence began to idly stir the stew with a spoon when her brother, unconvinced of his own mind’s capability, pointed into nothing. “I recall a… _Alan Molyneux-Herbert_. I brought him in a few months ago after his _horrific_ surgical practices were presented to my people.”

Despite the unfortunate predicament she was in, that fire flickered to life in Florence’s eyes. Freddy suppressed a sigh upon noticing it. “He could be his older brother.” She got up on her feet to lean further toward her brother, scanning over as much of the note as she could so she could point to the line that backed up her theory. “See? They must’ve been close-- or business partners of some kind.”

He gave a hum, rolling the corner of the paper as he pondered. Then, he placed it to one side, prompting Florence to sit back down, and picked up his spoon. “Did he say anything… _strange_ to you?”

“Besides being far too forward?” One of her eyebrows quirked upwards and Freddy grimaced, taking to eating a spoonful of his meal rather than replying. “He asked that I meet him again in the library tomorrow.”

After a few moments of quiet, his lips drew into a tight line. “I think you should.”

Florence scoffed before spooning a chunk of beef into her mouth. She covered her lips with the back of her hand as she spoke. “No objections to me doing the dirty work this time, brother dearest?”

Knowing that she’d hit back with something like that, he groaned. “It’s a public library; he can’t try to do anything in there besides torment you with his flirting.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin and gestured to her. “I’m certain, after your _scuffle_ with Mister Fullmore, you can handle yourself around one man. If familial similarities tell me anything, I doubt this Willard is the largest bloke either.” Florence hummed, pointing her spoon at Freddy to confirm his point. “Besides, I can hardly take your place can I?”

She gave a small laugh. “I think I’d enjoy seeing you try.”

“I’m sure you would.” He replied with a smile-- the kind that was accompanied by a fond shake of the head. 

They ate quietly for a while with only the grandfather clock on the other side of the room creating steady noise. Lissie pottered about between them as their bowls began to empty, cooing gently to Duncan who had hopped down the stairs to collect any scraps that fell onto the floor. When Freddy finally finished, he didn’t leave the table as usual and instead leant back in his chair, staring at his sister. She soon noticed this and dragged her gaze away from the remnants of stew in her bowl. Spoon still held close to her mouth, she prompted him with a raise of both brows.

He clasped his hands together and rested them against his stomach. “Mister Frye visited before you returned. He asked me to ‘ _apologise on his behalf for dashing off today_ ’.” Freddy mirrored her raised brows, which hadn’t yet moved from their position. It was as though she was a rat caught in a larder. 

Slowly, she raised herself up from her bowl, placing the spoon neatly onto the napkin at the side. “I was… on my way to the library and we ran into one another. He rushed away because--”

“I’ve known you since you came out of the womb, Florence; _stop lying to me_.” Frederick stopped her, rolling his eyes until they met hers again. She huffed but was given no time to defend herself. “It seemed like, from what he told me at the door, that he ran off without so much as a thought to you or your feelings--”

“He came to apologise--”

“-- and only had his sight on his… _agenda_ for London. You shouldn’t want to spend all of your time with a man who doesn’t consider your emotions, Florrie.”

Florence widened her eyes and shook her head, like her brother was stupid and she was drawing attention to it. “I’m not _heartbroken_ , Freddy; Mister Frye can do as he pleases. I’m not going to bloody marry the man.”

Frederick breathed out a laugh. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said in weeks.” Seemingly satiated with her answer, he stood from his chair and patted down his waistcoat and the lap of his trousers. He partly did this to avoid Florence’s scalding stare, her jaw clenched in an attempt to keep back a smile of disbelief. With that done, he turned and made his way to the stairs, presumably retiring for the evening before his sister could bite back with anything too venomous.

Florence sighed, slumping back in her chair so Lissie could collect her bowl and cutlery. 

Well, at least tomorrow would be interesting.

* * *

Florence found Willard sat at the same table the next day. Now, she was somewhat late, though that was mostly due to the fact that she had been standing in the entryway wiping sweat from her hands for a good amount of time. Lying and acting to appease someone you know is one thing but it gets a lot scarier when you’re dealing with a man who, in a few scrawled words and a look or two, had made himself seem very… _nasty_.

For someone who had been sat, alone, in a library for goodness only knows how long, Willard didn’t seem to have all too great of an interest in any of the hundreds of books on offer. Instead, he played with his thumbs, strands of golden hair tumbling onto his forehead. It was stupid, Florence thought as she approached him, but she still couldn’t possibly bring herself to deny the fact that Willard was a _terribly_ beautiful man.

When a chair scraped across the wooden floor in front of him, his head snapped upwards. For a moment, he looked almost innocent: green eyes wide and lips parted just enough for Florence’s eyes to linger on them. However, upon taking in her blush-coloured dress and the curls in her hair, that conniving twist appeared on his lips and she instinctively looked away.

“Dear lady,” he began, voice rumbling like the beginnings of a roar, “I thought it impossible that you look more beautiful than yesterday but it appears you have proven me wrong.”

Florence, in an effort to not be sucked into the whirling green of his eyes, rubbed her nose with a finger and acted like she was picking something from the skirt of her dress. “You flatter me, Mister Molyneux-Herbert.” 

She sensed that he’d placed his upturned hand on the table in front of her and she finally dragged her gaze to him. His palm begged for her own. “Please, Miss Abberline, call me Willard.” 

Florence smiled-- a courteous gesture though not at all genuine; it seemed to satisfy him enough. Her fingers relished in the cool wood of the table before taking their place in his hand. “If that’s the case, you may call me Florence.”

Like yesterday, he placed a lingering kiss on the back of her hand. She allowed her gaze to flicker away, seemingly flustered under the attention, her lips curling into a coy smile. 

This was terrible. Horrendous. _A nightmare_. Florence delighted in her skill of manipulation but had never had to act so… _submissive_ before. It seemed that Willard only held that sweet glint in his eyes when she shied away from him-- when she acted petite and enamoured by male attention. It made her want to tug her hand away and--

A cough sounded behind her and she jolted, pulling her hand away from Willard in the process. While not exactly how she had planned getting away from him, she was still grateful that it had worked. As Florence turned in her seat, ready to give the disturbance a small, thankful smile, she met a pair of hazel eyes. 

_Wait_. She knew those eyes.

Her vision finally focused on the rest of the face.

_Jacob_.

Half of her said to turn around as to not make Willard suspicious of anything. The other half declared that if she simply spun around that it would look strange too. So, Florence faced halfway between them both, gaze able to dart between the pair. Though, with how peeved Willard looked, she didn’t particularly want to glance in his direction.

“Who are you? Can’t you tell that the lady and I are busy?” 

So, he was an emotionally volatile man too. _Great_.

When Florence looked to Jacob, awaiting his response, he caught her eyes, brows twitching just enough for her to assume he was quite taken aback by Willard. “The name’s Jacob Frye, sir. I’m here to collect Miss Abberline; her brother says it’s urgent.”

A slight panic struck Florence. 

What did Freddy need? Had something gone wrong? Was he hurt?

Wide eyes flickered over to Willard, her hands already arranging her skirts to make it easier for her to stand. There was a strange glint in his gaze. He was focused on Jacob; his sudden hostility had quietened. Much to her surprise, Willard didn’t open his mouth to speak again, instead leaving the conversation open to her.

“Why? What does he need?” Florence rose from her seat, eyes now trained onto Jacob. “He hadn’t said about something ‘urgent’ this morning.”

Jacob shrugged, giving an unknowing frown. “He didn’t tell me anything else-- only requested that you get back home as soon as you can.”

A hand to her forehead, she let out a heavy sigh. “Willard,” She began; Jacob seemed to be quite intent on listening in on the exchange, “I must cut our meeting short. I am _beyond_ sorry but… Frederick never usually calls on me in such a manner so it must be important.”

“I can accompany you, dear lady. My carriage and driver should be nearby.” Willard tensed to stand but Jacob held out a hand. The blond slowly lowered himself once again. Florence could feel rage ebbing off of him-- likely thanks to being pushed about by a man of a _lower class_.

“Sergeant Abberline asked only for her. I can get her home safely, _Will_.” Willard visibly bristled and Florence could’ve sworn that she could see the beginnings of a smile playing at Jacob’s lips. “Now,” Jacob held out a hand, which Florence took, to help her out of the alcove, “if you don’t mind, the lady and I should be off.” 

With that, he swept his arm in the direction of the exit-- a dramatic gesture that made Florence suppress a smile-- and the two of them left the building. She didn’t dare to even look back at Willard, lest he kill her with his burning stare alone. 

When the thunder of carriages upon stone and the chatter of people returned to her senses, Florence turned to Jacob, who was still leading her along. A hand came to his arm, half to get his attention and half to give her the leverage to walk alongside him. “Right, Jacob, what’s the matter with Freddy? If he’s in the hospital for something, I swear--”

“Nothing’s the matter.”

“-- I will get my hands on-- wait. _What?_ ” Florence stopped on the pavement, expression crumpled with confusion. “What do you mean ‘ _nothing’s the matter_ ’?”

Jacob, having realised that Florence had paused, reeled backwards to address her. There was a grin on his face that had an undertone of caution; he was unsure if he had made a mistake. What with the look of annoyed bewilderment painted across her features-- brows drawn together, lips parted, nose scrunched up-- it was expected for Jacob to have a genuine sense of worry settle in his stomach. 

“I mean that you looked _terribly_ uncomfortable in there and I thought, being the saint to society that I am--” Florence’s jaw shifted to one side slightly, her hands on her hips, in an attempt to keep a relenting smile from tugging at her lips. _He was insufferable_. “-- that I would be doing you a favour by stealing you away.” His eyes, having been thrown around dramatically while he was speaking, drifted hopefully back to her. One of his brows raised and his lips curled into an apologetic smile.

Florence said nothing.

Jacob stayed frozen in that position for a few moments more before slumping, sighing lightly. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” He held a hand out toward her, beckoning. “I’ll make it up to you with a surprise-- I promise.”

She looked between his hand and his face, then finally grinned. Jacob’s shoulders visibly relaxed and it only made her laugh, sweeping gleefully toward him. “Seems like _I_ worried _you_ there. Care about my feelings do we, dear Jacob? My brother was concerned that you didn’t.” Rather than taking his hand, she hooked her arm around his, leveraging herself to his side. 

“You are a _menace _, Flor.” His smile said otherwise, however.__

____

“Only to you.” 

____

They locked eyes for a moment, smiles softening into something different altogether. Florence could suddenly feel her heart in her ears. There was that heaviness of breath in her chest-- a choking swell of her feelings. 

____

_No. No. Not again._

____

As though struck by lightning, her gaze darted away, blinking a few times like she was resetting herself. “Where might this surprise be then, Jacob?” Florence looked back to him, though she appeared to have steeled herself somewhat. When she noticed the light of concern in his eyes, a light squeeze came to his bicep alongside a smile. 

____

Deciding against saying anything about the sudden change in her demeanour, he began to walk them both along the street. “Well, I recently met a bloke by the name of Robert Topping. Strange man, with an even stranger sense of fashion--” 

____

“Yes, because _you_ are the pinnacle of that area.” Her other arm moved around to tug at his untucked shirt and he batted her away, chuckling. 

____

“You’ll see the man soon and you’ll be eating your own words, dear Flor.” Jacob shook his head, as if he were recalling Robert’s dress sense and shivering at it. 

____

“Why? What does this Topping fellow have to do with where we’re going?” 

____

“Will you let me speak without interrupting?” 

____

Florence huffed out a laugh, gesturing in a forward motion with her hand. “Go ahead; I’ll try not to interject.” 

____

Jacob nodded a ‘thank you’ as he tugged her down a backstreet, glancing from place to place to ensure he was going the right way. “Well, Topping is a bookie for a variety of events but my personal favourite are the fights. So, I thought I might bring you along to a fight club to watch a few matches-- get invigorated, you know?” 

____

“Oh, I’ve heard of these fight clubs. Freddy often complains about them.” Florence mentioned. “I suppose he just doesn’t understand why people would fight against each other for fun.” 

____

Jacob raised a brow. “You’ve heard of them before?” 

____

“Why does that surprise you?” Florence glanced up at him, confused. 

____

He paused for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m not sure, I just supposed there’d been a _rule_ surrounding the secrecy of fight clubs or something.” 

____

Now far too wound up in this string of their own thoughts, the pair walked in silence for a short time. Once again, Jacob seemed to have a knack for leading Florence down alleyways that she didn’t even know existed. He often gave a nod or a wave to people dressed in green-- his ‘ _rooks_ ’, she remembered-- which she began to do as well, if only to seem more like a friend of Jacob’s than anything else; she supposed she didn’t want to get the reputation of ‘ _that bird that Jacob buys_ ’. It appeared as though her upbringing-- filled with reminders to remain a respectable woman-- had stuck in some ways more than others. 

____

Jacob turned to her for a brief moment, mouth opened, but no words came. One of her brows tugged downwards. “What is it?” 

____

He looked away again and breathed out a sigh through his nose. “I don’t mean to… intrude on your personal business but--” 

____

“Willard?” The light-heartedness in her tone relaxed Jacob and a relieved smile curved his lips. 

____

“Yes. I didn’t realise you had a _gentleman suitor_ , hm?” 

____

Florence grimaced and made a noise akin to “ _blergh_ ”. “No, I wouldn’t count Willard as that, despite his trying.” Jacob raised a brow, urging her to elaborate. “The first words he said to me were a quote from one of _your dear old friend_ Dickens’ novels. Then, he introduced himself as the--” she mimicked a man’s voice, “--’ _third son to the Earl of Carnarvon_ ’.” She sighed, throwing her hand into the air. “I mean, how _pompous_ can one man be?” 

____

Jacob had been grinning the whole time, quite amused with her ranting. “So, I take it you’re not interested then, despite his _beautiful blond locks?_ ” He acted like he was flipping hair over his shoulder and she laughed, shaking her head. 

____

“I most certainly am not interested-- mostly because he supposedly has some kind of grudge against my brother and wants _revenge_ by means of me.” He felt her grip on his arm tighten somewhat and realised that, although her tone sounded fairly unfazed by the idea, Florence was really quite angry. “I don’t understand why all men interested in me have some kind of criminal inclination.” 

____

Jacob, an assassin and _criminal_ by trade, gave a slight laugh, raising his eyebrows and averting his gaze by glancing down a nearby backstreet. “ _They certainly do._ ” 

____

Quiet fell between them once again but only because he was considering. He took the few moments in which they descended a set of stairs to weigh up his options. 

____

With a certain degree of courage mustered, Jacob asked: “Have you ever _been_ with someone, Flor? Like... _romantically?_ ” as normally as he could. 

____

She didn’t seem to pick up on the riot in his mind but still frowned somewhat. “Yes. Well, sort of. I tend not to enjoy thinking of it.” 

____

He furrowed his brows. “Why not?” A cheeky laugh slipped passed his lips and an elbow nudged into her side. “Was he a _disaster_ in bed?” 

____

A harsh squeeze came to his arm and, through a chuckle, he yelped at the pinch it caused. When he looked to her, she was glaring at him but a light of amusement danced through the gold in her eyes. “No, Jacob, I’ve never even--” she paused, glancing to the side, defeated. He grinned, infuriating her further. She continued, if only to stop him from saying anything else. “Thomas Langhorne is the _terrible_ man who I used to love but he broke my heart and is now married to my eldest sister, Harriett.” 

____

Jacob blinked a few times at the speed in which she said this, having to rewind her words in his head. “What? He’s married to _who?_ I feel like there’s more to this-- if you’re willing to tell, of course.” 

____

Florence sighed quietly. It was a tender topic still and merely scraping the surface of it made her want to pummel Thomas. Though, the look in Jacob’s eyes was overbearingly patient and that little voice in the back of her head convinced her that perhaps sharing the memory might have a relieving effect. 

____

“When I was fifteen, I fell in love with the mayor’s son, Thomas Langhorne. It was the kind of young love you read in books, you know? There were butterflies and nights stolen away and _ugh!_ ” She groaned, brows forced together. Honestly, it almost looked as if Florence could throw up at the thought. “He promised to have my hand in marriage and young me, being _foolish_ , fell hopelessly in love with Thomas. I never understood why we had to keep everything a secret, however.” Ah, here was the problem, Jacob suspected. He could almost feel her nails piercing through his coat with how angrily she held his arm. “I figured out that little conundrum when I took a trip to our cellar and found him…” Florence grimaced and took a breath to brace herself, “... _inside my sister_.” 

____

“ _Bloody Hell!_ ” Jacob hissed through his teeth, looking down at her in disbelief. Her vision seemed to be glazed with fury and didn’t notice the concern for her in his eyes. 

____

“It turns out _they_ loved each other and Thomas had used me to get to Harriet. I was simply the idiot who _thought_ I was in love.” Florence, feeling heavy-hearted but altogether like a weight had been loosened from her shoulders, gave a bitter little laugh. The grip on his arm lessened. “So, I have decided to stay away from all matters romance until I absolutely must marry someone, lest I have all of society frown upon me.” 

____

Jacob felt a pang of hurt somewhere-- not at her declaration to steer clear of love but at the mere fact that such a man could take a treasure like Florence and stand on her like he did. It was terrible, he thought, that a young woman, during the years in which they all dream of falling in love, had barred herself from doing just that because of the selfish desires of this Thomas bloke. 

____

“I don’t think you should give up on love so easily, Flor.” He mentioned to her, gesturing for her to let go of his arm and walk behind him down a tight alleyway. “Besides, this Langhorne fellow doesn’t seem like the ideal man.” There was a pause, then Jacob huffed out a laugh. “How big was he?” 

____

When they emerged from the alleyway, getting closer to the distant sounds of a crowd cheering, the light that finally hit Florence revealed a mightily confused expression. She had an inkling of what he meant but wanted confirmation. Her eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?” 

____

Jacob gave an impish grin. “You know: the _downstairs_.” He waggled his eyebrows and Florence snorted. 

____

“I called the ordeal a ‘ _little_ conundrum’ for a reason, dear Jacob.” Amusement bled back into her eyes and the way she was smiling told him that she was keeping back laughter. 

____

“Well then, you should forget _little_ Thom being your first love. Let your sister have him, eh?” The pair came to a door and the roaring crowd was most certainly behind it. Jacob swept an arm forward to encourage her to go in front of him before he revealed the arena. “Find another first-- one who actually knows what’s right there in front of him.” 

____

Perhaps Jacob was right; Thomas didn’t deserve to have such an impact on her life. He was a _rat_ of a man and Harriett could keep him. Florence would find someone far better: someone who could make her laugh, who would calm her anxieties, who would adventure with her, despite what everyone says. Yes. _Yes_. She at least deserved that. 

____

“Plus, I’m certain the next bloke you find will have a much bigger--” 

____

Florence thrust the doors open and the two of them drowned in the roar of the crowd, bells ringing and bookies begging for bets. Despite the noise, she could sense that Jacob was chuckling behind her. 

____

_What a dastardly man_ , she thought with a smile. 

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahoo!! i guess i love them??? i'm always happy with their little conversations and escapades it makes me :,,))
> 
> i think this fic is gonna stretch out the timeline of the game a little more. i mean, is there any confirmation for how long the twins are doing what's in the game? if you know, please inform me!! but, otherwise, thanks to me adding in extra bits and wanting draw things out nicely, it might take months rather than perhaps like a month or smth??
> 
> anyway, as always, feel free to contact me on tumblr (@possiblypeachy) and also on pinterest, where i have a board for tea & schemes (@possiblypeachy again)!! i love hearing your feedback, so please do tell me what you liked and disliked!!


	7. Fight Clubs are Perfectly Romantic

To say that Florence Abberline had any idea how underground fighting rings operated would be the biggest lie of the century. The only thing she could correctly assume was that there would be blood and lots of noise. On both of these counts, she was right.

The building itself appeared to be some kind of disused warehouse, converted into a space for men (and the occasional woman) to tap into their more primal side and beat the ever-loving God out of another person. Honestly, she wouldn’t have expected anything less and, despite being perhaps the only woman here in a dress such as hers, Florence was simply itching to get in view of the ring. Nothing was more therapeutic than watching round upon round of fighting– well, she assumed at least.

A shove came to her arm and man, waving a bottle of something in the air, swept across her peripherals. She grimaced, abstaining from passive-aggressively _‘bumping’_ back into the man, and leant into Jacob– a necessary gesture to be able to hear one another. “I feel like I’m going to be mugged.” Her eyes drifted to a woman dressed in red; she had been eyeing up the rings on Florence’s fingers since she’d walked in here. “I’m certainly not getting into the ring to fight for my possessions either.”

She felt a hand just above the hump of her hoop skirt and his body shifted to her side, obscuring Florence from the staring woman’s view. “I reckon you’d have a good chance in there.” When she shot a harsh glance at him, he was grinning back down at her. “You’d floor them with your looks alone.”

“By that you meant that I am dazzlingly beautiful rather than anything nasty, I hope?”

“Of course, dear Flor. I certainly didn’t mean that they’d take one look at the Hell in your eyes and piss their poor britches.” 

Florence’s jaw shifted to one side, faux offended, and a laugh slipped past her lips. “You must have a bladder of steel then, Jacob, because the sheer amount of times I’ve had to look at you like that is astounding.”

“No. Actually,” He shuffled them through a particularly small gap, during which Florence realised Jacob didn’t smell half bad. Then, to herself, she cursed; _what kind of observation was that?_ “my trousers are just very thick. Evie tends to have the same effect so they’re a needed precaution.”

She snorted when she laughed next, bordering on her hysterical pig squeal of a giggle. The curl of Jacob’s lips made him look like the cat that got the cream but, between manoeuvring them through the tight crowd and trying to ensure greedy hands don’t pick at Florence, he didn’t have the chance to glance down at her to see if that dimple was pressing into her cheek again. 

The cheering became rowdier and more… _animated_ the closer they came to the ring and, every couple of steps, either Florence had to duck out of the way out of an arm or Jacob had to move his body to act as a human shield. Despite it all, she didn’t seem dampened by the less-than-gentle hospitality and had taken to looking upon the fighting in wonder. Could Florence throw a punch? Certainly. Could she throw a punch like that? Most certainly _not_.

Blood splattered across the floor just as the pair reached the side of the ring, blending quite seamlessly into the already stained stone below. Florence flinched slightly, less in fear of the fighting and more in fear of getting anything on her dress and having to explain it to Freddy later. She could already imagine the look on his face if he saw her here, though she suspected that circumstance wouldn’t occur; Freddy didn’t tend to attend underground fight clubs for leisure. 

When Jacob muttered something to a man in green, who had been whooping and hollering at the side of the ring, a small gap was made for himself and Florence. It was a… _cosy_ space; Jacob was at her side now but had to tuck a portion of his body behind her, shoulder against hers and hand still on her back. At least it meant for easier conversation.

“Who’re you rooting for?” He asked, leaning down to her somewhat and pointing toward the ring. 

Her eyes flickered between both fighters; one was a particularly tall bald bloke who seemed to employ brute strength over any other strategy, whereas the other was a smaller brunet– a nimble man, it seemed. Just as Florence went to speak, the larger of the two landed a bone-breaking hit to the brunet’s nose and, through a sympathetic grimace, she pointed to him. “That one. It doesn’t matter how fast the other guy is; baldie’s tall so he has a long reach.”

Jacob hummed but Florence couldn’t hear it. Hazel eyes continued to watch the fight and, for the brief moment in which she gave a quick glance up to his face, Florence realised that Jacob had a particular passion for this sport. 

“You really love this, don’t you?” She asked but Jacob, too captivated by the deadly dance going on within the ring, didn’t answer her. Two fingers, readied like a little spear, prodded at his ribs to get his attention and he made a rather unlikely yelping noise as a reaction. Holding back the beginnings of laughter, Florence asked again: “You’re quite enraptured, Jacob. Like a good bit of fighting, do we?”

He nodded his head, frowning as though he was weighing up his own opinion. “You could say that, what with me being the champion here and all.”

Although he didn’t yet allow his gaze to dart toward her to gauge her reaction, the squeeze to his bicep and the wide eyes in his peripherals told him all he needed to know. “You’re the _champion?_ ”

“Yep!” His eyes finally met hers and he couldn’t even consider keeping up his smug facade any longer, breaking out into a grin. “The majority-appointed _king of the ring_. See? I told you _King Jacob_ had a lovely ring to it.”

Florence laughed, shaking her head. “Alright, _your majesty_ , calm down with the ego-boosting.”

“You think calling me ‘ _your majesty_ ’ will do anything to help that–”

“M’lord!” The pair turned to see a top hat swimming through the crowd. Florence gave Jacob a side glance but said nothing until the disembodied voice finally… well, _became embodied_. “It’s so good to see you here today.” A man appeared; he was a bit taller than Jacob but a lot lankier and seemed to hop towards them like a pleased little rabbit.

He was a performer then, Florence assumed. 

“Hello, Robert. How are things in the ring this afternoon?” A hand came out to shake the man’s shoulder in greeting but his eyes flickered to Florence. At the same time, a wave of recognition crashed across her expression and she looked Robert up and down. As it turns out, Jacob was right; he _did_ have a peculiar sense of fashion.

Robert sighed in perhaps the most dramatic way a man could, throwing his arms up at his side and walking– no, _floating_ – around them to be closer to the fighting. “Terribly boring, Mister Frye. There’s no life in the ring– no zest!” Behind his back, Jacob and Florence gave each other a look before Robert turned around again. “There is one way the afternoon might get more interesting?” He let his sight drag to Jacob, a light in his eye that hinted at his true intentions.

“I wasn’t planning on fighting today, Robert.” Jacob gestured to Florence beside him. “I was just introducing Miss Abberline to the glorious world of underground brawling.”

Robert looked from Jacob to Florence, sizing up how close they were standing with a smile. “There’s no better way to impress a lady than demonstrating your raw _masculinity_ , m’lord! Imagine it:” He pushed between them, an arm slung over Jacob’s shoulder while his other hand swept across Florence’s vision, “he’s in the ring, all scowls and sweat and _muscle_. He lands another crippling punch and the crowd goes wild! He looks out into the masses and spots her– his good luck charm. He may already be the champion of this ring but his only true desire is to be the champion…” He leaned closer to Jacob, pressing a hand against his own chest, “ _of her heart_ –”

“ _Woah_ , Robert, maybe we should slow it down with the whole–” 

“Sounds _splendid_.” Florence interrupted, shooting Jacob a devious little glance as he removed Topping’s arm from around his shoulder. “I think I’d enjoy seeing you in the ring, Jacob.”

He huffed a small laugh out through his nose but had no time to retort. Robert broke out into a grin, gesturing with great vigour toward the ending match. “Wonderful! See, m’lord? Even the lady encourages it.”

Jacob opened his mouth once, closed it again, then looked between Robert and Florence, defeated. There was a moment in which they were both simply staring at him and he sighed. “Well, I’m not one to deny my _adoring_ followers.”

Florence gave him a half-smile, amusement dancing in the honey of her eyes. “You’ll have to prove to me that you’re worthy of your title, _King Jacob_. I’ll be here, looking pretty and being a– _what was it?_ – good luck charm?”

He laughed, already being ushered away by Robert, and pointed to her. “If I win, you have to call me ‘your majesty’ until I’m satisfied.” 

The dimple in her cheek appeared, grinning at his daring, but he was now too far away for her to offer a definite answer. Florence only held her hands up, shrugging playfully, before Jacob disappeared into the crowd.

 _Oh_ , what fun this would be. 

Before Jacob had even emerged again from that shady backroom that he’d been all but dragged into, Robert had begun to energise the crowd with promises of the champion and “life-changing bets”. Florence was glad that a few of the Rooks still surrounded her, keeping her safe from the rowdiness of the masses behind her– and ensuring no fingers sneak toward her and snatch away her valuables.

There was cheering from one end of the room, presumably the reaction to Jacob finally making his way to the ring. Eyes narrowed and lips pursed slightly, Florence began to scour the crowd in hopes of spotting him. When she noticed a few men slapping someone on the back– that someone being Jacob, she grinned and waved hoping to gain his–

Wait.

_Wait._

Her smile shifted into a rather conflicted expression.

_Was his chest bare?_

Despite there being plentiful men here wearing nothing besides trousers and the hair on their chest, Florence had a strange feeling that seeing specifically Jacob like that was a level of intimacy that they hadn’t achieved yet.

 _‘Yet’?_ Goodness, Florence Abberline– pull yourself together.

However, before she could pull her eyes to a safer zone, her sight caught onto his– _what were they?_ Tattoos? She squinted again, subconsciously leaning closer to the ring that he’d just entered to figure out what they were. One was most certainly a bird of some kind but the other one was so _small_ that Florence couldn’t quite–

It was then that she realised that the tattoos were slowly getting closer to her, which meant that Jacob was too. Her gaze snapped upwards to his face and she was met with a self-satisfied grin, one of his brows raised. With wide eyes, Florence shook her head, going to tell him that she wasn’t _ogling_ she was merely studying his tattoos, but a bell began to ring and it drew Jacob’s attention away. 

_Damn it all_. She wasn’t going to hear the end of it. 

His usually relaxed demeanour hardened into something altogether far more intimidating as soon as the ringing stopped. Robert shouted something but Florence couldn’t hear it over the roar of the crowd, encouraging the other men to “ _get a good hit on Frye!_ ”. The fight had started, she supposed.

Now, not to say that Florence had ever doubted Jacob’s abilities but… well, that’s exactly what she seemed to have done. She had presumed he had a good knowledge of weapons and how to use them– not his _bare fists_. He was a lot faster than she’d anticipated and seemed to have a rather strange sense for when an attack came toward him; Jacob had not yet taken a hit, despite a few men laying, immobilised, on the cold floor below. 

Speaking of which, surely it was unfair to pit one man against so many?

The crunch and crack of someone’s leg gave her the answer to her own question: one man wouldn’t stand a chance in the ring against Jacob and even those who fought in groups were fools. 

Thanks to her wondering, Florence hadn’t realised she’d started to cheer for him, as though it were second nature, at the side of the ring. It had begun as a gentle clapping then evolved into a wide grin spread across her face. At one point, when Jacob had floored two men– both taller than him– at once, a loud cheer erupted from her, the root of the noise deep within her chest. The volume startled the rook beside her and Jacob himself, it seemed, since his eyes flickered over to where she stood.

At that exact moment, a skinny little man punched Jacob in the side, hoping that it would distract him enough to land a hit on his stubbled jaw. Unfortunately for him, Jacob caught the man’s wrist before it could connect with his face and slammed his own fist into the bloke’s gut, winding him. Florence didn’t even have time to feel a sting of guilt for pulling Jacob’s attention away from the fight. Hell, he didn’t even seem all too fazed by the hit he got before.

She continued to cheer, though perhaps more quietly this time, and she could feel her heartbeat through her veins. He was doing so well and the only way she could describe the bursting in her chest was _pride_. In a way, perhaps she’d become a bit star-struck; Jacob Frye, a renowned and celebrated fighter, was _her_ friend, had decided to bring _her_ here, went out of his way to speak to _her_ – it made her feel so very special. _God_ , how stupid.

The next few rounds came and went in the blink of an eye. Florence wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline that was making the world go by so fast or if it was the fact that she was simply enraptured with the whole ordeal. By the time she got home, she’d likely still be shaking with excitement; she’d just have to tell Freddy that she read a particularly interesting book in the library– one about fighting, as to drip a small portion of her actual day into the story.

Three rings of the bell marked the end of the fight and, as suspected, Jacob stood victorious with little more than a reddened cheek, a bruise forming below his collarbone, and bloodied knuckles. Robert hopped– as is his way– into the ring to declare that Jacob had defended his rightful title; Jacob seemed very pleased with himself, for want of a better word. 

Moments later, he clambered over the barrier between the crowd and the ring, sweaty and breathing heavily, patting his forehead with a little rag to remove, at the very least, the sheen on his face. Despite all this, he broke out into a grin as he made his way to her. “How’s my good luck charm, then? Did you enjoy–”

In an act that surprised the both of them, Florence, without much thought, pulled him into a tight hug, balancing on her tiptoes slightly so she could comfortably bury her face into his neck. It was a gesture borne of gratitude or congratulations or… _something like that_. One half of her regretted making such an idiotic, rash decision but the other half felt Jacob’s hands on her back, a thumb rubbing gently across the fabric of her dress, and she smiled. 

As she pulled back, hands gliding from the nape of his neck to his shoulders, Florence was grinning and Jacob seemed to mirror it. “That was _glorious_ , Jacob! I mean, the precision of your hits was–”

_God, the light in her eyes was beautiful._

“– _astounding_ and when you countered that blond bloke? _Amazing!_ How did you know to–”

_Would it be too forward to kiss her?_

“– dodge at that moment? It’s like you have some… _superhuman ability_. I’m still–”

_Oh, he wanted to kiss her._

“– shaking from it all and I–” She paused, sighing through a small smile and averting her gaze for a moment to think. Florence didn’t notice this but, at the same time, Jacob seemed to lean towards her, following the movement of her head. When she looked back to him, she became acutely aware of how close they were, how one of her thumbs absently traced the curve of his neck, how she could feel his breath on her skin.

Jacob’s gaze flickered down to her lips.

Florence felt her heart skip.

_Did she want to kiss him?_

Her lips parted and honey eyes searched hazel ones for any signs of dishonesty– something that she should’ve looked for with Thomas– but she found nothing besides warmth and a sense of… _adoration?_

_Fuck._

Her hands moved from his shoulder back to their previous position on his neck. Using this as leverage, she pulled herself back into the hug and quietly hoped that he wouldn’t be able to feel the stammering beat in her chest. 

Oh, God preserve her; she _did_ want to kiss him. She wanted to take Jacob’s _stupid_ face in her hands and _kiss him_. 

What a predicament.

Florence Abberline was falling in love again.

“Thank you.” She whispered to him but she wasn’t sure why. For bringing her here? Perhaps. For making her feel special? Maybe. For prying her heart open again with little jokes and smiles? Just as likely. 

A few moments passed in which they both felt like they had missed an opportunity but they found comfort in one another regardless. Then, Florence finally pulled away fully a soft smile forming on her lips. “Well, I do believe that I should be on my way home, lest Freddy start thinking Willard’s stolen me away.” 

“Give me a moment to… well, _dress_ –” She huffed out a laugh, dimple making its mark in her cheek, which encouraged Jacob to grin too, “– and I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh, Jacob, you don’t have to. You’ve already done plenty–”

“I insist.” There was a certain genuineness to his smile that made her cave.

“Well, who am I to turn down a _king_ , hm?” That devious little light reignited in her eyes again.

He breathed out a laugh and mirrored her impish smile. “Remember our bet? You have to call me ‘your majesty’ until I–”

“Hold on. I never agreed to this bet–”

Jacob had begun to back into the crowd and, thanks to this, he cupped a hand to his ear, “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t seem to hear you, my _loyal subject_.” Florence’s jaw protruded in annoyance, crossing her arms beneath her chest, but a begrudging smile played at her lips. “I suppose you’ll have to wait until I return, eh?” Then, he turned and was swallowed by all the tightly-knit people. 

She shook her head, watching after him with a certain look of disbelief in her gaze.

She liked Jacob _fucking_ Frye.

 _God_ , how her brother would hate that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having them not kiss here actually physically pained me. i was listening to 'it's you' by ali gatie while writing and it made me all :,,)) lmaoo
> 
> anyway please someone coo with me bc i love them muchly. get in contact with me in the comments below or on my tumblr (@possiblypeachy). i also have a pinterest board for this so check out my account (also @possiblypeachy)! thank you so much for reading ~


	8. Dinner Plans

The walk back to Florence’s home was filled with light, cheerful conversation but brushes against the shoulder and moments of her simply studying Jacob’s face seemed far more frequent. Or were they like this usually? Florence was unsure; she’d begun to overwhelm herself inside her own mind, though she kept Jacob none the wiser. The last thing that she could afford right now was him, of all people, digging through her conscious.

“-- and _I_ was trying to enjoy a pint but along comes Evie with this huge bloke’s head in her hands and she just slams him into my table. I tell you, beer in the eyes is painful but not as painful as the splinters that man had to pull out of his face.” Jacob grimaced, gazing into as though he was envisioning the wound’s that very moment. Then hazel eyes met hers, amusement mirrored in both of their eyes. “So, the moral of that story is to _never_ go drinking with my sister.”

“Such a shame, that.” Florence’s brows drew together in faux disappointment. “To think, I was going to invite your sister down to the pub this weekend.” 

“Without me?”

She shot him a little wink, a finger coming up to tap her nose. “Girl talk, Jacob; you wouldn’t understand.”

He huffed out a laugh, taking a familiar turn into her street. “I’m not sure Evie would either.”

Florence’s gaze fixed to the profile of his face for a moment too long, just watching the curl of his lips and the jovial light flickering in his eyes. Why did she find it so impossible that he actually wanted to spend time with her? Remnants of Thomas prickled at her heart, despite Jacob’s work to remove them. The thought that she might allow herself to fall fully for this man-- _this assassin_ \-- only for him to break her again terrified her more than Florence would like to admit. Yet, his presence had been lingering on her mind for longer than she’d previously realised.

His eyes dragged from the bunting strung above her street to her and the worried little crease between her eyebrows. Florence appeared to be in another world entirely. “Flor? Are you alright?”

She blinked once, then again, before refocusing on the world around her. A gentle smile tugged her lips upwards and she nodded. “Yes, of course. I was just thinking…” 

_… that I’d very much like to kiss you._

_… of how you always seem to make me feel at ease._

_… about you._

“... that we should perhaps part ways here, lest Freddy interrogate the both of us. You know how he is.”

Jacob chortled, nodding, his brows raised. “Indeed I do.” There came a little sigh, hardly noticeable, though gave the impression that he was almost sad that their time together had come to a close. The smile she gave him said the same. 

Something heavy hung above their heads.

“Well, thank you for today, Jacob. There’s nothing like watching someone you know beat a crowd of grown men up.” Florence breathed out a laugh, shaking her head slightly. 

There was a softness to Jacob’s face; the curve of his lips was gentle, the glint in his eyes screamed of something more than a simple care, and his gaze studied each of her features-- from that little mole on her bottom lip to the hump in her nose to the strands of mousy hair that had taken to resting on her forehead. The arm that had been hooked around hers moved forward but he paused before putting his hand on her hip. Instead, below her sight, Jacob’s hand balled into a loose fist-- a sign of a change of heart. “Florence,” her full name, “ _look_ , I really--”

Her hand came to his shoulder to stop him, heart roaring her ears. “I should really be getting inside, Jacob.” Ah, _Christ Almighty_ , he looked like a kicked puppy. It was near indescribable how much her heart wanted her to push forward embrace him, tell him of all the tangled worries occupying her mind, but that very mind insisted that Florence had to make sense of it herself first. So, as to appease her heart enough to allow her a few hours of restful sleep tonight, she rolled up onto the tips of her toes, placed a hand to one of his cheeks, and gave a featherlight kiss to the other. She muttered a soft “Visit me again soon.” before turning and hurrying into the safety of her own home.

Jacob watched after her with wide eyes and parted lips. It was rare that Jacob Frye was speechless but, for a few moments, his brain was completely incapable of comprehending words. Was he blushing? His own hand came to his cheek and he frowned slightly. Maybe. 

_Bloody Hell._

London _does_ have its surprises.

* * *

“A letter came for you while you were out, Florrie” was the first thing she heard as she walked in the door. Freddy, from the lounge chair, glanced over the newspaper he had been reading and to his sister, furrowing his brows at the red tinge to her ears and neck and the otherwise lost look in her eyes. “You look flustered.”

Florence hung her shawl besides the door and tucked a strands that had come loose from her bun behind her ear. “Oh, it’s…” Eyes flickered over to the letter on the tea table before flitting to Frederick, giving him a reassuring smile, “... it’s nothing. I think Lissie made my corset a smidge too tight this morning and, well,” Her lips pursed and her brows rocketed toward her hairline, “I’ve already told you how _overwhelming_ Willard can be.” 

Freddy hummed, uncomfortable with the thought of a man being so _shameless_ with his sister. The newspaper flopped at one corner when he gestured to the letter now in her hands. “What’s that about, then? Is it mother and father?”

She tapped the back of the envelope with her thumb for a second or two, having vaguely recognised the handwriting as most certainly not her mother’s, before tearing it open. It was an invitation to meet again the day after the next from--

“ _Willard_. He’s asked to meet with me again.” She muttered, scanning over the contents of the letter.

Freddy frowned. “Couldn’t he have asked you that at the library?”

 _Ah, shit_.

“He had to leave on ‘important business’ earlier than I expected so he must’ve just forgotten.” Florence had a talent for lying through her teeth, though whenever it was to her brother she did feel the need to pray to the Lord above at the same time. 

Freddy was quiet for a few moments then sighed. Florence held her breath. “No doubt his ‘important business’ was--” The pitch of his voice heightened somewhat and it drew a smile up from his sister, “-- ‘collect my latest pomade shipment, make a fancy speech to parliament, _plot the demise of Frederick Abberline.’_ ” 

She snorted, folding the letter back up and balancing it between her middle and ring fingers. “I’m sure he’s arranging the hitmen as we speak, dear brother.” 

Freddy shrugged and raised his eyebrows in response, a motion that said “probably” before letting his eyes drift back to the newspaper. Florence paused for a few moments in her place, toying with the letter. She needed to speak with Lissie.

“When you see her next, can you tell Lissie to come up to my room? I’d like to get out of this corset and into a nice bath.”

“Of course.” Frederick gave her a little farewell smile as his sister made her way towards the staircase.

Lissie was something of an agony aunt and, goodness, did she need someone’s ear to chew off. In fact, merely thinking of it made her hands shake and breathing heavy. Even the gentle meowing of Duncan behind her bedroom door did very little to calm her nerves.

A gentle knock came to the door and Florence didn’t even have a chance to answer before the figure of Lissie bumbled through the door. She had two cups of tea in her hand and a concerned glint in her eyes; she already knew that Florence was worrying. Felicity was a good woman and Florence appreciated her very much.

Without a word, Lissie passed a cup to Florence and she began to blow over the surface of it, steadying it when the older woman took a seat on the bed beside her. There was a slurping noise-- how did she drink it while it was still so hot?-- then Lissie settled the tea into her lap, turning slightly so she could take Florence in fully. “What’s the matter, dear--”

“I like him.” She blurted out, honey eyes flickering from her tea to her maid. There was a look of desperation there-- as if she was hoping that Felicity could simple somehow magic away that clenching of her heart.

Lissie furrowed her brows. “You like who?”

“Jaco-- Mister Frye. We’ve been spending more time together recently and I-- and we--” Florence held her breath, keeping eye contact with Lissie for a few moments, before finally sighing. “He almost kissed me.” There was a pause. “I almost kissed him.” Another. She threw one hand up into the air and the cup of tea in her other hand wobbled dangerously. “I don’t know-- _I don’t know!_ I just--”

“Lovely!” A hand came to Florence’s shoulder. “ _Lovely_. Calm down.” Lissie’s smile was so kind that Florence actually felt her shoulders relax. Blue eyes met hers and, to reassure Lissie, she gave her a little nod. “It’s fine. He’s not a bad bloke, is he?”

“No, of course not. Jacob is… well, he’s _really_ charming. He’s not a huge gentleman but he doesn’t have to be. I just--” Florence glanced to the corner of the room, where Duncan was watching them both, then back to Lissie. “I just think I _really_ like him.”

That smile curled at Felicity’s lips and Florence stifled a laugh of disbelief. Before she could say anything though, Lissie was already speaking, “Oh, to be young and in love.”

“You’re lucky I need you, Felicity Marlowe.”

Lissie grinned, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of her eyes. “I know, I know. But,” The same hand that had been on her shoulder moved to her lap, giving Florence’s thigh a reassuring squeeze beneath her skirts, “you seem quite smitten with this Jacob fellow and, from the sounds of it, he likes you enough too. Is he why you’re always out?” 

Florence took a sip of tea, avoiding the answer to the question for as long as she could, and flinched when it burnt her tongue. She swallowed once, with brows pulled downwards, then answered a simple: “Yes”.

“Do you enjoy yourself with him?”

A pause. “Yes.” Honey eyes met blue ones, remnants of the day swimming about in them. “Did you know he took me to a fight club today? I watched him fight; he’s the champion there.”

Lissie’s fingernails tapped along the ceramic cup and her lips pursed for a moment. “So, why is it such a dilemma that you fancy him, then?”

There was the real question. Why did it bother her so much that she liked someone-- liked him? It wasn’t like Jacob had done any wrong by her yet. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to make her happier. And, the way he had looked at her: as though she was everything that existed in the world at that moment. God, it made Florence’s throat tighten and heart swell.

“I should be looking for a wealthy husband. I need someone my father would benefit from.” Lissie looked unconvinced. Florence looked panicked. “Freddy wouldn’t approve either.”

Felicity set her tea down and held her hands out. Florence did the same and placed her own hands in the maid’s grip. A thumb glided over the back of her palm as an effort to comfort. “Firstly, you have never been concerned with such tripe. _My_ Florence would rather die than marry into wealth.” 

Florence’s lips curled into one of those smiles that said: “You’re right but I don’t want to admit that I was wrong”. 

“Secondly,” One of Lissie’s hands came up to raise Florence’s gaze back to her, “in the politest way possible, fuck your brother.”

Florence frowned. “I’d prefer not to.”

Felicity groaned, rolling her eyes and giving a slight pinch to the back of Florence’s hand. “Hush, you terrible woman.” She huffed out a laugh, allowing Lissie to continue. “Freddy would disapprove if you got with the son of Queen Victoria herself. He might yap on about you needing to marry a ‘good man’ but all he cares for is your happiness, lovely. He’s probably just worried about Jacob’s intentions.”

Florence sighed, teeth gnawing at her top lip. She was right. Lissie was always right.

“What is it that’s _really_ worrying you?”

That clenching in her chest began again but it was sadder this time-- _scared_. When she looked back up to Felicity, there were the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “I’m frightened he’s going to break my heart or--or--” One fell down the curve of her face and Lissie was already pulling Florence into a hug, burying the younger’s face into her own shoulder, “-- if he might leave me because I’m too _b-boring_ and I--” 

A gentle ‘ _shh_ ’ came to stop her blubbering and stuttering. “Florence, lovely, you’re one of the most interesting, _lively_ women I’ve ever met and anyone would be blind to not see the same.” Florence hiccuped into her shoulder, pulling away slightly to rub her eyes. At the same time, Felicity’s hands cupped her cheeks to ensure that Florence was looking at her. Red circled honeyed eyes, lashes thick and dark with tears. Lissie frowned slightly and moved forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “If he’s gotten into your heart, it’s because he _tried_. I reckon Jacob wants you as much as you want him.”

God, he had tried. Jacob was so kind to her-- so willing to help her outside of this little box she’d been put in by her class. He wasn’t afraid to show her new things in fear that it’d ‘ruin her innocence’. He’d tell her horribly lewd jokes because they made her do that silly snort of hers. He, despite his sister’s words of concern, always went out of his way to see her. 

Florence’s heart calmed down a little bit.

Maybe this all wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

Through a small sniff and her hands coming up to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks, Florence sighed but it sounded somewhat like a laugh. “That sounds terribly dirty, Lissie.”

Obviously pleased with how Florence had stopped crying and now had the beginnings of a smile playing at her lips, Felicity released her face and grinned, pointing an accusing finger. “I’ve seen the bloke’s shoulders-- _nice and broad_. Don’t lie to me and tell me you haven’t thought about him above--”

“ _Felicity Marlowe!_ ” Florence slapped the maid’s arm, stifling a naughty little giggle. There was a wonderful sense of joy in the genuine smile of someone who had just been sobbing. It was their emotion in its rawest form-- walls torn down by the breakdown moments before. Despite her eyes and the red around them, light shone in her pupils eyes again. “Just go and sort me out a bath, please.”

“What? So you can think of all his _muscles_ alone?”

Florence shot her a sharp look but the dimple in her cheek made an appearance, her head shaking. “No.” Then, a playful little smile graced her features and she glanced away briefly. “So I can plan on how I’m going to kiss him.”

Lissie’s grin was proud. “That’s the spirit.”

* * *

The park she’d been due to meet Willard in was quaint enough, with a little gazebo in the centre that a band played in. It was mid-morning, so the soft chirps of birds accompanied this melody, which calmed Florence’s heart to some degree, she supposed. In the light of the rising sun, it wasn’t difficult to spot Willard’s golden crown of hair. The mottled sun painted gorgeously against tanned skin and, when he heard the small clicks of her footsteps, he turned, green eyes appearing almost icy in the light.

“Dear Florence!” He stood from the bench he’d been sat on and took a few steps towards her. His head bowed and his hand took hers, placing a featherlight kiss upon the back of it. “I hope nothing terrible happened to your brother, hm?”

Florence’s smile was courteous and sweet but the sickness in her stomach remembered Willard and his feelings toward Freddy-- how he planned to _use her_. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that he was fine.” Willard raised a brow, asking her to elaborate. She did, hooking her arm through his so they could walk together, “He had ripped my favourite dress accidentally and had begun to panic far too much-- the poor sod. _Oh_ , sorry for the language. I’m--”

For once, Willard seemed to smile genuinely, breathing out a laugh. “It’s charming, Florence; you shouldn’t apologise. I have siblings, so I know it’s not always so easy to refer to them nicely.” He had leant into her somewhat to say this, as though it was a little known secret. Much to her own surprise, a little grin tugged at her lips. “If you’d like, I can put some money in toward reparations? I would hate for you not to feel as gorgeous as you always look.”

 _Here start the compliments again_.

“No, it’s fine; I’m unsure on if I’d even fit into it anymore. I’ve had it for far too long so it’s about time I chose another.” Did Florence have actually have a preferred dress? No. She chose all of her dresses because she knew that she’d look good in them. There was no purpose in her having one particular ‘favourite’. 

“Well, perhaps you should make the one you’re wearing now your new favourite. If I might say, blue is a _beautiful_ colour on you. It really brings out the paleness of your skin.” 

Great. She supposed blue couldn’t be her favourite colour anymore.

Florence’s previous thought that her conversation was going quite swimmingly with Willard, although brief, flew completely out of the window. In an effort to hide her growing grimace, she turned as if to look at the birds in the trees above them. “Thank you, Willard. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They walked in silence for a while, following a path lined with flowers. The quiet was welcome for a time until the realisation that Willard was never quiet for this long hit Florence across the face. She finally shot a glance toward him to find him looking less-than-happy with the world.

“You seem troubled, Willard. Is there something you wish to speak with me about?”

His eyes met hers after a few moments. Then, he gestured for them to sit on the bench just beside the gazebo. “What is your opinion of me, Florence?”

Genuine confusion washed across her expression. “Nothing bad, Willard. You’ve only been nice to me. Why?”

“It’s just that there have been… _unsavoury_ rumours going about with concerns to my intentions with you.” Willard shifted in his seat so that he might hold her hands. Florence allowed him to, upholding that look of bewilderment. “I simply hope for this to be the start of something grander and I would hate for you or your family to think of me in a bad light.”

_What did he know? What had he heard?_

“What rumours might those be?” The speed of her speech made her seem panicked but, if he had picked up on it, he didn’t comment.

Willard frowned. “After Sergeant Abberline arrested my brother, some people have this _sick_ idea in their minds that I’m out for revenge. What my brother did--” He swallowed, appearing quite disgusted. A terrible feeling began to stir in Florence’s stomach. “What he did was… _horrible_ and I am ashamed to have the same blood as the wretched man.” 

Was he lying? He must be. A barrage of doubt slammed into her. Maybe he was being truthful and the note was a set-up of some kind. But, on the other spin of the coin, perhaps he’d noticed he’d lost the note and wanted to cover up his tracks. There was a flashing memory of the look in his eyes when Jacob introduced himself. None of the puzzle pieces were connecting and Florence was beginning to feel quite light-headed. 

She blinked once. Then, twice. Her hand came up to tuck a few curled strands of brown behind her ear in an effort to self-comfort. “I have never thought such a thing and nor has Freddy.”

“I’d still feel horrible to just leave it at that; I feel like I must prove that I’m not the creator of some dastardly plan. So,” Was that a shy smile? From _Willard?_ “I’d like to invite you and your brother to dinner at my manor at the end of this week.”

What had she done to the Lord above for Him to invoke such wrath upon her?

Florence felt like her body had frozen, bar the heavy swallow she took. Dinner wouldn’t be… _so bad_. Yet, there was this pang in her chest that told her that living this double life-- split between being _this_ Florence for Willard and the _real_ Florence to Jacob-- would be her downfall but she felt that she had very few options in the matter.

“That sounds lovely, Willard. I’ll be sure to tell my brother when I return home. Speaking of which--”

“Oh, don’t say you must leave, dear.”

Florence’s lips tugged into a sad smile, patting Willard’s shoulder to comfort him. “-- I must leave to go home. Our maid is due to do the shopping soon and I must go with her; my cat has a very specific diet.” 

Willard huffed out a laugh at this and stood up with her. “Well, I look forward to seeing you again this weekend. Do say ‘hello’ to this diva cat of yours from me, too.”

At that, Florence grinned and said her goodbyes. Beneath her, her feet went a little faster than usual.

* * *

The door was unlocked when she got back, Freddy obviously having forgotten to lock it on his way out to work. As soon as she stood on the creaky floorboard near the entrance, the door closed behind her, Florence let out a heavy sigh, shoulders relaxing somewhat. She set her little purse down on the little table beside the coat rack but stays there to lean on it for a small while, simply gathering her thoughts.

Her opinion on Willard was much like a metronome; sometimes, he was delightfully charming and today told that he had at least some sense of humour but, other times, he was like the wolf to her rabbit-- ready to consume everything she had ever stood for in a grapple for power. It made her feel weak either way; she didn’t want to kneel for any man.

Her breathing was deep and slow-- an attempt to comfort-- and one of her hands had begun to work on undoing the bun on her crown. Florence had had enough of today and it was barely the afternoon. She would write her parents another letter, read, and wait for Freddy to get home; she didn’t have the emotional energy for much else.

_“A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”_

Florence jumped, all of her muscles tensing in one go to look toward the source of the voice. 

There was Jacob, all amused at the sight of Florence so surprised, holding Pride and Prejudice in his hands. “Who knew books could have such profound words? Now I know where your fancy vocabulary comes from.” 

Florence, despite her racing heart, laughed softly, shaking her head. With a brow raised, other hand out to ask for the book back, she asked: “How did you get in, Jacob?”

He took a few steps forward, around the lounge chairs, to give her the novel. “That maid of yours-- _Lissie, was it?_ \-- let me in just as she was leaving.”

The image of Felicity’s dirty little smile came to the forefront of her mind and Florence bit back a grin. “If Freddy had come home, you’d have been killed.”

“ _Oh, yes_ \-- because your brother is capable of murdering me.” Jacob narrowed his eyes at her, snark dripping from his voice, and plonked himself down onto the nearest chair, playing with the fabric beneath him. Florence sighed, amused, but said nothing more, going to hang up her shawl. Jacob soon noticed the tension in her movement and the tiredness in her eyes. “What’s got you in a twist, lovely Flor?”

Of course he’d notice. He noticed everything. That feeling arose again when she turned to look at him, concern in those hazel eyes, but she swallowed it. “I met with Willard again today--” The slight frown Jacob adopted was nearly missable, “-- and he’s invited both me and my brother to dinner this weekend.”

He made a mock ‘ _ooh-la-la_ ’ noise, despite there being a little part of him that hated the whole idea. “Sounds like a date. Perhaps he’s courting you and you don’t even know it.”

“ _Oh_ , I know it; he makes it all too obvious. I just don’t want to be… _courted_.” Florence paused, rolling her shawl in her hands. “Not by _him_ , at least.”

Jacob’s little grin never left but there was something in his eyes as he asked: “Did you have anyone else in mind?”

Blood rocketed through her veins. She could hear it in her ears-- feel her pulse in her neck. Their gazes locked for a moment too long and his expression softened into one reminiscent of the other evening. Florence broke the moment by dragging her eyes away. “The only thing I have on my mind is alcohol; I need to relax.”

“I could help with that.” Briefly, she looked back to him only to be met with a cheeky wink. Her shawl flew through the air and landed on his face, muffling his chuckling.

“You’re terrible, Jacob.” Try as she might, she was unable to keep the dimple in her cheek away, facing away from him for a few moments so he didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her laugh. When Florence finally looked back to him, he was still grinning, now wearing her shawl like a pretty scarf. “You can stay and share some wine, if you’d like--”

“No, no. Certainly not.” He stood up, shuffling around the table to get to her. “Come on.”

She frowned, confused. “What?”

“You’re not going to drink wine and mope at home. If you want to drink, we’re going to go to the pub.”

“Jacob--”

One of his hands were already on the doorknob, tugging the door open. The other he held out toward her like an invitation. “I won’t hear it. It’ll cheer you up.”

Florence bit her cheek, arms crossed beneath her chest, unconvinced. 

“I want to see you happy again-- like the other night.”

Felicity’s word from earlier echoed about her head. Jacob did only want to make her happy.

Florence’s resolve broke in the form of a tilt of her head and a little smile. “Fine.” She placed her hand in his and he helped her step out of the door. “You have to give me my shawl back.”

Jacob, closing the door behind him, hummed. “You know what?” The hand that wasn’t holding hers stroked the fabric of the shawl. “I don’t think I want to.”

Her jaw dropped in mock offence and he half-shouted when her hand came up to try to pull the damned thing from his shoulders. “Give it back to me, Jacob; that thing cost me a pound!” Florence’s words came out through laughter, drawing attention to the pair of them from people strewn about the street. 

“Alright, alright! I’ll give it back--” She went to grab it again and he leant away. That gooey feeling in his centre returned when she pouted, “-- if you promise to hold my hand on the way there.”

Florence sighed. “People will talk.”

“Damn them.”

She frowned-- thoughtful. Then, honey eyes melded with hazel. 

_Damn them_.

“Deal.” Jacob didn’t have a moment to react when she tugged it off of his shoulders and draped it over her own. “ _Thank you_.”

He stared at her for a little too long, the beginnings of a certain smile curling at his lips. “I think it looks better on you, anyway.”

Florence gave a little grin, unable to keep the red twinge away from her ears.

Their fingers stayed interlocked for the short journey there and Florence, it seemed, had underestimated how much more it made her love him--

Like him.

 _She only liked him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long boy of a chapter. if i was okay with writing like 6k for my chapters, they would've kissed in this one i swear to you all. also!! please love lissie!! she's like a cool older sister even though she's probably old enough to be flor's mum!! i'm president of the felicity marlowe fanclub please leave your applications to join below--
> 
> anyway, as always, contact me in the comments or on my tumblr (@possiblypeachy). i also have a pinterest board fro tea & schemes so check that out too (@possiblypeachy again!). thank you all for reading!! :))


	9. Cogs in the Plan

The pub that Jacob had taken her to-- _The Maiden’s Crown_ \-- was far too busy for it only being early afternoon. Though, Florence did have to admit, a smile came to her face when she heard the haggard and out-of-tune singing of the patrons. There was something almost endearing in watching a crowd of grown men sing at the top of their lungs along to near-operatic songs but, on the other spin of the coin, Florence could-- with confidence-- say that Duncan could yowl the lyrics better than that.

It was a nice enough place, if one were to disregard the obvious disrepair. Green accents painted the pub and there was a rather lovely painting of the Thames of the far wall behind the bar; if you squinted your eyes, you could barely see the stain on the canvas, which was good, she supposed. All things considered, while it wasn’t as high-end as the one in Westminster that she and her brother frequented, it wasn’t the worst place for Jacob to have taken her. At least it wasn’t in Whitechapel.

She’d never been a lover of beer or ale on the account of it tasting like piss so she could only hope that this pub served a particularly flavourful sherry or sloe gin. Even the putrid smell of ale made Florence’s nose crinkle as herself and Jacob weaved through the mass of drinkers; she’d never understood how Freddy could stomach it when they drank together.

“Why does it seem like everyone here knows you, Jacob?” She asked just as they got to the bar. He squeezed between a few men, one of whom he said a brief ‘hello’ to, before shuffling her in alongside him. The barman, obviously pleased to see a lady who had at least washed in the past week, promptly swept over to them, to which Florence muttered that she’d like a glass of sloe gin and he went away to prepare it before Jacob could even open his mouth to ask for anything.

Despite that little problem, Jacob, now leaning against the bar, still shot Florence a grin. “Pubs are the best place to recruit. Or, to soften someone up so they’re easier to get information out of.”

“Oh, _conniving_ \-- I like it.” Florence gave him a playful side-eye before nodding a thank you to the bartender and taking a small sip of her drink. Her face soured slightly at the strength of her drink but the sweet aftertaste made up for it, making for an altogether amusing expression, to which Jacob’s lips tugged upwards.

“You like me for my schemes but not my devilish good looks? Or, my superb sense of humour?” He raised a brow, a smirk gracing his expression. Briefly, he pointed to a bottle on the back shelf and the bartender set it down before him.

Florence took another sip of her gin, holding the glass just beside her mouth, then replied with a simple: “Why can I not like you for all three?”. Her smile was small and amused but her eyes told of perhaps a larger confession. Jacob’s expression softened, melting from a cocky grin to a glint in his eyes that declared fondness. _Did she still want to kiss him?_ For a moment that Jacob barely had time to pick up on, her eyes flickered down to his lips. Yes, she most certainly _did_ still want to kiss him. The stammering in her chest told her, if the romance novels she always read had taught her anything, that perhaps now was the moment to make up for her hesitation the other night. 

Their gazes remained locked for a moment then Florence, heart pounding, went to move forward to grab his hands. However, in an unfortunate turn of events, a hand-- that _wasn’t_ hers-- clapped to Jacob’s shoulder, making his bottle of beer slosh dangerously. There was a half-shout of “Jacob, my boy!” before he could even turn to look at the offending bloke. “The lads and I haven’t had a chat with you for too long, son. You have to come over--”

“I’m a bit--” Hazel eyes flickered to Florence, who was staring into her sloe gin and scratching her nose in an effort to not draw the attention of the hulking man beside Jacob, “-- _occupied_ at the moment--”

“Nonsense! Come on, son.” The grip on his shoulder tightened and Jacob was tugged from his spot. He shot her an apologetic look but, before he could actually open his mouth to say anything, the bigger man began to ramble about… _something or another_ ; truthfully, Jacob’s mind was elsewhere.

Florence watched after him for a few moments before focusing her attention on her drink again, swirling the reddish liquid about in its glass. She took a bigger gulp than perhaps was usual for a woman of her stature, hissed through her teeth at the taste, and turned herself slightly so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare endlessly at Jacob across the room.

Damn whatever God had decided to put a stop in the cogs of her plan. Well, it was hardly a fully-fledged _plan_ but, nevertheless, it would’ve been nice to have seen its outcome. Or, would it have been? Anxiety bubbled up within her; there was always the chance that she’d read Jacob all wrong and he didn’t actually like her. Then, as if she was watching a puppet show in her mind, a little image of Lissie popped up and pulled a stern face at her. Florence laughed to herself, sipping at her drink again.

In fact, she continued to sip at her drink until a body squeezed in beside her. Expecting it to be Jacob again, Florence turned with a smile. The smile continued to hold out of pure discomfort when she realised it wasn’t Jacob and was _actually_ a man whose breath smelt quite terribly of beer. He was grinning down at her-- no doubt trying to be charming-- but the only thing Florence took from that was that she’d need to ask Lissie to wash her dress later on.

“Hello, beautiful.”

_Oh, God._

Florence sipped her drink, using it as a few moments to switch her mind into _‘presentable lady’_ mode, then placed her glass on the bar beside her. Her smile was sweet but her eyes screamed of annoyance. “Good afternoon, sir.”

The man, in an attempt to get closer to her without her noticing, pointed over her shoulder toward a bottle on the shelf, ordering the bartender to throw it to him. He did so, to which Florence had to duck, lest a bottle smash against the side of her face. Then, he popped the cork out of it with his teeth and spat it elsewhere. She suppressed a sigh.

“What’s your name, love?” He took a swig of beer and leant on the bar. “Benjamin Treadway, myself. Lovely to make your acquaintance.” He held a palm out and she placed her hand it in. This Ben fellow then kissed her hand, trying to maintain a sultry eye contact but, as soon as she could, Florence was taking a sip from her drink again. She wondered if she could ask the bartender to make the gin any stronger. 

“I’m Florence Abberline.” Her joy was dissipating by the minute and, by chance, when her gaze trailed to the table Jacob had been dragged to, their eyes met and she shot him a small frown that pleaded for help.

A certain recognition crossed Ben’s face. “Right! You’re the sister of that bobby-- what’s his name? Frank, is it? Francis--”

“Frederick. His name is Frederick.”

“Ah, yes, that’s the one! I’m surprised, is all; never expected shared genes with _him_ would make for a pretty lady.” 

Florence furrowed her brows, quite visibly displeased at this. What was he implying? That Freddy was _ugly?_ It was a wonder, really, how he expected to woo a lady by insulting her brother first. “My brother is handsome enough, thank you. Nor is he here to defend himself.” She tried hard not to spit this and, to quell her frustration, she covered her mouth with her glass.

A crooked little smirk pulled his lips upwards. “Oh, she’s a _feisty_ one. Don’t usually find those about.” He took a swig of beer and set it down on the bar beside him, beady little eyes inspecting her features. “What brings such a posh bird to these premises? Don’t your type like to stay at home and… _sew or summin’?_ ” 

As Florence tried to muster up a half-sensible answer, she could feel someone watching her; with luck, it was Jacob. To assume this would be correct. He, over his bottle of beer, was carefully studying how close the bloke was stood to Florence, where his hands would inch as their conversation continued, how he kept glancing down to the gap between the top of her bodice and her collar. He had a distinct look in his eyes-- one that tipped the other men off around the table to his growing concern. The man that had dragged him over, _Richard_ , followed his gaze upon realising how Jacob had leant back in his chair, slumped and rubbing the top of the bottle against his bottom lip. 

“You alright, son?” He asked, the clap on his shoulder gentler now but still enough to draw Jacob’s attention away from Florence for a few moments. “That bloke bothering you?”

“No.” He took a swig of his drink and gestured loosely to the pair on the other side of the pub. “He’s bothering the lady.” Just as Jacob said this, Ben went to play with a tassel on her shawl and Florence slapped his hand away, clenching her jaw and turning to ask the bartender to fill her drink up again. 

Richard pursed his lips. “You fancy her?”

“You could say that.”

The boys around the table shared a laugh and Richard shook Jacob’s arm, amused. “Well,” His other hand pointed to Florence and Benjamin, “what’re you doing letting that scumbag chat her up?”

Jacob sighed, eyes flickering between the man at his side and the pair at the bar, trying to muster up an answer. “She’s not the type to want to be _saved_ ; I don’t want her to think that _I think_ she’s incapable.” 

They both looked back toward Florence, who necked half of her gin and raised her eyebrows at whatever the bloke was saying. He let out one of those idiotic fake laughs and placed a hand on her arm, to which her lips twisted into an uncomfortable smile and she threw her gaze in the direction of Jacob, silently asking him to _hurry the fuck up with his business_.

“That’s the look of a woman who’ll start scrapping in a minute if you don’t help her.” The boys chuckled, murmuring their agreement. “I don’t think she needs to be saved-- more so… _distracted_.” Richard gave Jacob a push and the younger of the pair set his bottle down on the table and stood up. A little nod gave thanks to Richard and the men sat around the table gave a quiet cheer, causing Jacob to huff out a laugh on his way toward Florence.

There were a few mutters of “ _excuse me_ ” and “ _sorry_ ” before she noticed Jacob behind Ben. A light tap came to the lankier’s shoulder. “Hello, mate. Sorry to be a bother but you appear to be stood in the only available spot next to my wife.” Jacob glanced down to Florence’s fingers-- _her rings_ \-- and she rather nimbly moved one to her wedding finger. 

_This would be fun._

Ben glanced back to her, down to her hands, then up to her face. His eyes narrowed. “Haven’t heard of the bobby’s sister getting married.” 

“Small ceremony.” Florence mentioned, taking a sip of her gin to hide her growing smile. Jacob had to refrain from laughing but the way he exhaled sounded dangerously close to it. “We wedded in spring; it was just with my family and his. Beautiful occasion, really.”

“Indeed.” Jacob mentioned, pushing the bloke aside with a hand to stand just in front of Florence. To conserve space-- or perhaps to keep their act up-- he snuck an arm around her back, making sure that his hand was seen at the curve of her waist. “Lovely affair. Her bouquet had tulips in it; they contrasted quite nicely against her dress.”

Florence couldn’t hold back a grin so she used it to look up at Jacob and act like she was in love. However, when he mirrored her gaze, huffing out a quiet laugh, she wasn’t quite sure if it was entirely acting. Would now be okay to kiss him? It would simply be a part of the act if all went wrong. Oh, _goodness_ \--

“ _How lovely._ ” Ben’s voice was mocking, eyes narrowed and mouth pulled into a tight line. He gave her another look up and down. “Why’s her name still Abberline then?” He pointed loosely to her. It was almost like he was grasping at straws to try to win her back as if she was some kind of prize to be had. 

She felt Jacob squeeze her side briefly, as if to tell her that he’d handle it. “I’m a Frye-- _Jacob_ Frye.” Hazel eyes had a certain darkness to them and his smile held a challenge. Ben’s focus seemed to have finally pulled away from her, now staring quite dumbly at Jacob. His gaze flickered from the scars Jacob had to the gun that peeked out from behind his coat and he visibly shrunk back into himself. “It’s dangerous to have a name like mine in London these days so we decided that she’d keep to ‘Abberline’.” Jacob tilted his head briefly, narrowing his eyes and smiling, “For her own safety.”

Florence had never realised how much influence he had on others, though she supposed she’d never given him reason to be anything but kind to her-- _mostly_. By the way that his broadness all of a sudden seemed imposing and how the hand that wasn’t holding her curled into a fist, Florence could tell that Jacob was more than experienced at this. _God_ , how she wished she had the same effect on people that she didn’t like.

“Now, _mate_ ,” Jacob hissed through his teeth, pointing a finger at a now very small-looking Ben, “I suggest you leave my wife alone. We don’t want any blood on her lovely dress, do we?”

Ben gave a little nod and, much like the rat he was, scurried away. Florence watched him with a pleased grin, nose upturned slightly and a happy hum beginning in her chest. The dimple was there again, which brought great joy to Jacob when he tore his gaze from the back of Ben’s head and finally looked at her. 

“Good work, _dear husband_.” She was still smiling when she turned to him. He chuckled lightly, the sound pushed out by an exhale, and raised a brow. Florence, however, continued before he could say anything. “I hadn’t realised you could add any poison to your words; you’re always so… _soft_ for me.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, though there was a little smile painted across his features that told her that she’d figured him out, and spun so that he was facing her. He replied with a simple “What? You want me to be hard for you?” and, when they locked eyes and he muttered a “ _wait--_ ”, Florence began that dreadful laugh of hers.

“Certainly not in public, Jacob.” She, through a dirty little smirk, took a sip of her gin, though was having quite some trouble keeping it in her mouth.

Unfortunately for her, when Jacob began to chuckle-- a bottom-of-the-stomach laugh that made his head loll backwards, she had to cover her mouth lest the deep red of her gin spray all over him. Finally, she swallowed and took a deep inhale, trying to calm down her terrible giggling. Both her hands came to Jacob’s arms to keep herself steady and he could feel the remnants of her laugh shaking through her body. When Florence was able to straighten herself again, cheeks hurting from grinning, honey melded with hazel as their eyes met and both their smiles softened, her grip on his arms becoming gentler. Her gaze flickered across his face and a certain, sudden sense of worry sparked within her.

“Jacob, can I kiss you?”

His eyes searched hers, struck speechless for a few moments. Florence looked like she’d just taken a leap from the tallest building in the world and was bracing for the inevitable, messy impact. _Was she even breathing?_ She wasn’t sure she could.

“ _What?_ ” was the only word he could muster, though it was mostly because his brain was racing to catch up with the real world again. Jacob stumbled over his own thoughts, distracted by the growing redness to her face and the mere idea that she might even like him. 

Florence cursed herself and the world. _She’d fucked it_. She took a shaky breath and let go of his arms. “I simply asked if you’d perhaps like to kiss me but I--”

Lips stopped her, calloused hands on either cheek. The sudden journey from shock to happiness happened so quickly that Florence worried that she might start crying. That feeling that began to bloom in her chest was something that no romance novel could have prepared her for. It felt like the rest of the world had suddenly ceased to exist and it was only _him_ and his _lips_ and his _hands_ and his _smell_ and--

Fingers weaved into Jacob’s dark hair in a selfish attempt to prolong the kiss, though he seemed to have no qualms with appeasing her. She could feel her heartbeat in her chest, in her ears, in her thumbs and neck. The fall was not so terrible; he had caught her just before she hit the cold, hard ground. 

It was her who pulled away first-- the singing and chatter about the pub returning to her ears. Jacob could hardly complain when he saw the light of her smile and saw her shoulders shaking with the beginnings of a breathless laugh. The hands on her cheeks squeezed a little bit, squishing her grin back in on itself, so that Jacob could make sure that it was real and not a tormenting daydream. Fingers wrapped around his wrists, giggling only getting louder, to ask what he was doing without words. He mirrored her smile, pulling her forward so that their foreheads might touch, and muttered a “You have no idea how often I’ve thought about that.”

Perhaps her ego had danced a little at those words-- _how long had he liked her for?_ \-- but, even so, she felt this little worried, shaking part of her being click into its place for the first time in years. “I’d never realised.” 

“You must be blind then.”

Florence moved forward to kiss him again, smiling against his lips. It was shorter than the other-- he barely had time to rest his hands on the curve of her skirts-- but it was so achingly sweet and _normal_ that he didn’t mind that it ended when it did. Then, her fingers came to play with the collar of his shirt, straightening it and pursing her lips. There was such a distinct sense of contentment that he would be happy to watch her do that for the rest of his days. Her eyes seemed golden, melting under the pressure of her newfound feelings, when she looked up to him.

“Well, I’m not blind anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it happened!! it happened and i love them im--
> 
> this is the beginning of them being baby so please look forward to it! ~~maybe steamy bits are soon to come, hm?~~   
> can you believe i was actually going to make them kiss even later on? i was worried that i'd be drawing it out for too long though and i feel like this was a nice place for them to finally smooch, y'know?
> 
> please do leave some feedback in the comments or contact me on tumblr (@possiblypeachy). i also have a pinterest board for tea & schemes so have a peek on my account (@possiblypeachy again) if you wanna see some pictures that make me think of it all!!
> 
> thank you muchly for reading!


	10. Window Shopping

Suddenly, it seemed like the pub wasn’t so important anymore and, what with that Benjamin bloke still glaring daggers at the pair of them a few tables from the bar, the couple decided to shimmy their way out of the establishment and wander the streets for a small while. At the horizon, the sun was setting, painting a strip of pinkish-orange across the early evening sky. There was a chill in the air-- a reminder of autumn settling in-- that made Florence tuck her shawl more closely into her shoulders and encouraged Jacob to walk that little bit closer to her. Well, that required very little encouragement, truly.

There was this strange sense of joy lingering between them; it was the happiness borne from a returned confession mixed with the sudden fear that it had perhaps all been a mistake or some kind of terrible joke. However, the way that his thumb brushed over the back of their hands as they zigzagged their way down the backstreets made Florence feel a little better at least. Jacob found enough comfort in the memory of her smile back in the pub; he was almost certain emotion like that couldn’t be faked-- not even by a world-class actor.

“Jacob,” Florence spoke after a brief period of quiet between them. They’d been speaking idly of things, skirting over the surface of the kiss that had happened earlier and overall quite content with that. However, one might call Florence a cat and curiosity had killed her, “when we kissed…”

She paused to ponder her next words for a few moments but, before she could finish her own sentence, Jacob interjected with that cocky little smile of his and a quirk of his brow. “-- it was _magical_ and you’ll often dream of doing it again?” She gave him an exasperated look but grinned regardless. “Well, dear lady,” Jacob bowed almost crookedly, as if to lower his face down to hers while they were walking, “I am _always_ available.”

She hit his arm and scowled but the light in her eyes told of amusement. “You’re _terrible_ ; I’m trying to ask you something serious.” His demeanour softened and he dipped his head to the side slightly, as if to say “go ahead”, straightening his posture. Florence gave his arm a small squeeze in an effort to comfort him-- ensuring that she wasn’t actually bothered by his incessant jesting-- and, as her hand lowered again, he caught it in his own. A little curl came to her lips, gaze caught on the sight of their intertwined hands for a few moments; Thomas Langhorne had never made her heart do _that_.

Eyes, almost golden in the early evening sunlight, dragged up to his face once again. “What are we?” At this, Jacob’s face scrunched with confusion and Florence pursed her lips momentarily before she rephrased: “Are we doing some kind of… _courting_ now?” 

Her eyes glazed slightly at that dreaded word— so did Jacob’s. He opened his mouth briefly, only to close it again and hum, pondering. “Well, labels don’t have to be applied, do they?” Florence frowned, to which Jacob’s heart dropped suddenly, worried that he might’ve disappointed her. “Not those fancy labels, anyhow—“

“It’s just that I might worry about—“

“— because I’d definitely get bullied by Evie if I told her—“

“— exclusivity and the idea of _sharing_ you because I think I—“

“— that I was ‘courting a lady’ but I wouldn’t mind it, if you wanted to call it that, since I—“

“— really like you.”

“— really like you.”

They looked at each other as those same words spilt clumsily from both of their mouths. There was a moment of quiet between them, then Florence made a ridiculous little snorting noise in the back of her throat and they both began to laugh. She admittedly felt like one of those flustered ladies in those hopelessly romantic books she always read but, for the first time in her life, Florence didn’t loathe that thought so much— in fact, it barely bothered her at all. It simply felt… _nice_ to know that Jacob was experiencing the same things. Well, she assumed, anyhow, what with the gentle pinkness to his smiling cheeks.

Their eyes locked for a few moments as their laughter died down, honey melting into hazel, and Florence’s lips caught in a content, little smile— one that made Jacob feel, for a moment, like all was right with the world. Her gaze broke away from his and she shook her head, huffing out something that sounded like a chuckle through her nose. “My brother is going to keel over and _die_ if he finds out.”

“So we won’t tell him.” Jacob replied, a small squeeze coming to Florence’s hand. “Not yet, anyway.” A certain amusement lit up his features, the kind that she’d come to realise always came before one of his remarks. “Besides, I’d only have you to bully if Freddy’s chucked out of the picture.”

“ _I’m_ the one who does the bullying here, thank you very much.” Proudness adorned Florence’s face, nose upturned in a way that made Jacob do a strange, back-of-the-throat chortle. “I learnt from the best—”

“-- me--”

“-- _my sister_ , Emily.” Her expression deadpanned beside the tiny quirk to her lips that proclaimed humour. “I will… _allow_ you to be just as proficient at bullying as me.”

“You’ll _allow_ me?” His eyebrows raised in disbelief, open mouth threatening to break into a grin.

She giggled, nodding. “Yes, I’ll allow you--”

“You’ll _allow_ me, eh? Will you?” One of his hands came up to poke at her ribs, breathing out impish laughter at Florence’s sudden squeal. She half-expected to barely feel his prodding fingers through her many layers but the sudden jab to her side was very much there and it definitely made her jolt to one side. Unfortunately for everyone in the immediate vicinity, Florence began that god-awful snorting of hers. Jacob continued with his assault, repeating his words through laughter, until she was wiping tears away from her eyes, cheeks hurting from smiling far too much.

Disaster came when she wiped the cloudiness away from her eyes and her vision met with a familiar crown of golden hair. She spat something that sounded like a horrible mixture of “ _shit!_ ” and “ _damn!_ ”, which froze Jacob up as he tried to search for whatever had so suddenly changed Florence’s demeanour. However, she had already decided to relinquish any control he might’ve had on the situation by bundling them both off into a nearby alleyway, the home of a few-- now visibly worried-- urchins. 

Jacob’s brows furrowed and his mouth opened, ready to hurriedly ask her what had gotten her in a twist. Florence stopped him before he could speak with a thin finger smushed against his lips. She muttered a “ _Willard_ ” and, against her front, she felt Jacob tense, though his face showed no real difference.

“Why is that such a problem?” He whispered back, perhaps a little too loudly for Florence’s liking, using his hand to lower her finger from his lips. 

A myriad of emotions flickered across her expression-- all of which made Jacob frown-- and, in a moment of catharsis, she sighed. “You _know_ why it’s a problem--”

“If he sees us, so be it. Maybe he’ll finally leave you be.”

“And, what? Proceed to _kill my brother?_ ” Florence spoke through gritted teeth, gesturing pointedly back to the street they had just been on-- the street where Willard was. “I’m supposed to be going to that… dinner party to entertain the idea of him and I being a couple; I doubt it’d still be going on if he saw me being _friendly_ with you, Jacob.”

Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw clenched despite him trying his best not to seem angry with her. “How long will that go on for, hm? _Until you’re both married?_ When will Florence Molyneux-Herbert’s first child be born, I wonder--”

“Don’t be such a prick, Jacob.” There was something in her eyes that screamed a strange sense of annoyance. “I’ll do what I have to; I need to find solid enough evidence of his plots to get him arrested.”

There was a pause in which the pair stared at each other-- a challenge. Then, Jacob sighed and nodded. “Fine.” Florence released a breath she was unaware she’d been holding, placing her hands on her hips and turning herself away from him, as if she was about to peek back into the street. “I’ll come with you to the dinner.”

“ _What?_ No, Jacob--”

“Listen to me.” He gave her a look, all too aware of Florence’s tendency to interject when she was particularly… _passionate_ about a subject. She opened her mouth like she was about to disregard him, then her expression softened and she gestured for him to go ahead. “This Willard bloke-- he thinks I work for your family, yes?”

“I assume so.”

Jacob’s little smile counteracted her confused frown. In a way, his mere energy had formed this kind of… conniving, _scheming_ hope in the pit of her stomach. “Exactly. I am Jacob Frye, your butler and bodyguard, rolled into one. I presume it’s cheaper that way.” He shrugged and Florence gave a laugh, stifled by the back of her hand; it was a shame that he couldn’t see her dimple. “I’ll accompany you and Freddy to his estate and, while you look all pretty and have a munch on whatever little entrées he serves you, I’ll have a nosey about his house--”

“He’ll have guards.”

Jacob deadpanned at her, then gestured-- to make a point-- to all the various weapons strewn about his person. With a nod, a hum, and a laugh breathed out through the nose, she conceded. He muttered something like a “thank you” before continuing on with what he would no doubt tout a ‘nefarious plan’. “-- and collect any scraps of ill-intent he might have lying about. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll even stumble across a secret room with drawings of your brother and little knife marks--”

“You really do test me, Jacob Frye.” 

He let out a gleeful little laugh, loud enough for Florence to poke him in the ribs-- or was she serving comeuppance for his incessant jesting? Only God would know, one supposed.

With a small peek around the corner, Florence grimaced when she saw that Willard was still window-browsing at that poncey jewellery shop, rubbing his chin in a way reminiscent of some kind of statue of Adonis. _God_ , why was he so pretty? Her eyes raked up and down the bluish ensemble he was wearing today and--

Jacob pushed her slightly, straight out into the open street and Willard’s attention. The blond turned, intrigued by the little ‘ _woop!_ ’ and scuffle of shoes, and his expression shifted to one of surprised delight. “Darling Florence! What a gift God has given me for such a beauty to stumble back into my day.” 

She stopped herself from frowning at this and wanted more than anything to throw a look over her shoulder towards Jacob; it would’ve either been a plea for help or a reassurance that she did, in fact, dislike being complimented like this. Well, complimented like this by _him_. 

He all but swept over to her, the little cane at his side no doubt merely decorative-- a show of absurd wealth and status that made Florence feel inferior. _As always_. “What brings you here? Doing a bit of light shopping, are we? If you’d like, we could--”

“Ah, Miss Abberline, there you are! These backstreets are just nightmares to follow someone down-- oh.” Jacob, now having shown himself from the alleyway, drew close to her side, though not so close as to draw any attention. Hazel eyes met with Willard’s green and he bowed his head; Florence knew that, in his heart, Jacob was mocking the man but Willard seemed none the wiser. “Willard, is it? How lovely it is that you and my mistress have run into each other today.”

Florence had to stop herself from laughing at his formalities, lips twisting upward despite her best efforts to remain stoic. She could sense that Jacob felt the same way, no doubt having realised that he would certainly be made fun of later on for this. 

It was even more difficult to fight back the desire to turn and look at Jacob’s face when Willard corrected him, a light sense of disgust in his voice, with “ _Mister Molyneux-Herbert._ ”

What a prick.

“It is, indeed, a lovely coincidence that our paths have crossed again today. In fact, I was just offering to peruse the shops with the lady--” A green gaze caught Florence’s and he smiled somewhat; that terrible, conflicting feeling began in her soul again, “-- so I suppose you might go home, Mister Frye.”

Jacob kissed his teeth, shrugging. “No can do, I’m afraid; Miss Abberline is due for a dress-fitting later today so we’re on a tight schedule. The dinner party you plan to host would be a far better opportunity to catch up.”

Willard, seemingly disregarding just about everything Jacob had said, took a step toward her, to which she shuffled backwards into Jacob’s arm. He briefly placed a hand on her lower back, though truthfully it did very little to calm her, before clasping his hands together behind his back. “I could perhaps help you pick out a necklace or brooch to compliment your dress for the dinner--”

“Flor-- _Miss Abberline_ can’t--”

Florence’s hand brushed against Jacob’s stomach lightly, as if to ask him to back down so that she could handle the situation. Hopefully, the gesture went unnoticed by Willard. “It pains me to say this, but Mister Frye is doing what’s in my best interests. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I get far too emotional when under tight time constraints; I get it from my mother.”

Willard made a little ‘ah’ noise and huffed out a small laugh. He looked to Jacob, gesturing to Florence, and joked: “Such a typical woman, eh?” Behind his back, one of Jacob’s fists clenched but his face told nothing of his annoyance-- rather his mouth shaped a grin, head nodding in agreement. Willard met her gaze again and took a few steps to the side, as if to let them both pass him on the narrow street. “Well, it was lovely seeing you twice today, dear Florence. I look forward to your presence this weekend.” Jacob was already walking past him when he held out a hand for Florence to place hers in. She did so, as she was expected, and he placed his usual kiss to the back of it, to which she began to feel almost guilty; leading a double life wasn’t for Florence, she had concluded.

Now released from the grasp of Willard, she hurried after Jacob, who’s tense shoulders told of frustration. When he heard the tip-tapping of her footsteps on stone beside him, he half-turned, a mocking smile painted across his expression. “ _Such a typical woman, eh?_ ” The laugh he released was so hideous and fake that it made her begin her own horrendous giggling. Then, he shook his head, a very obvious frown pulling his lips downwards. “What a prick. Who raised him to be like that?”

Florence upturned her nose so she could achieve an appropriately posh accent. “The Earl of Carnarvon.”

“That would explain it then.” He sighed, rolling his eyes somewhat. “Well, at least you know you can catch the eye of-- _what?_ \-- nobility?”

“Oh, I doubt he would’ve even gone within a few feet of me if it weren’t for his murderous intent for my brother.”

Jacob did that kind of hum one does when they’re unsure of something-- the kind that changes pitch as easily as a cat flicks its tail. “I’m not sure if it’s just your brother.” Florence frowned and he elaborated. “To him, I am inconsequential-- a tiny little cog in a sequence that barely even affects him. I met him briefly once however long ago--”

“In the library, yes. He _did_ give you a peculiar look.”

“Exactly. At the time, I assumed it was just because I was an inconvenience to him-- which, admittedly, I still am--” Florence huffed out a laugh and Jacob paused to smile, “-- but he still _remembered_ me today. Bit strange, isn’t it?”

“You are overwhelming clad in weapons all the time and you have a tendency to gnaw at one’s mind.”

“Are you sure the latter wasn’t just you?”

Florence rolled her eyes but a grin broke her exasperated expression. “My point still stands, Jacob: you’re a memorable character.”

There was a pause. Then, he sighed. “Fine. I _might_ be overthinking it. But, maybe my concerns are in the right place too. There’s always another side to the coin.”

“That was a lovely metaphor, Jacob. Have you been reading Evie’s books?”

His shoulder pushed hers and she stumbled to the side, laughing and trying to keep her dress from being trodden underneath her own feet. If she had fallen, he would’ve been dragged down with her regardless, what with how tightly her hand had taken to gripping onto his arm.

“You’re a bully, Florence Abberline.”

“Did I not tell you this earlier?” 

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head at her incessancy, but said nothing more; she had certainly proved her point from before, he supposed.

* * *

They had walked for a small while longer, trying their best to distract from Willard and his decidedly strange aura, before Florence decided it would be best for her to get back home, lest she have a small legion of police on the lookout for her. The way in which she’d mentioned this seemed specific but she denied Jacob any further details. Regardless, the thought of Florence having to evade police officers to stay out into the evening made him chuckle; she was a nightmare of a woman but he considered it one of her many charms.

They came to the red door of her home and, seeing that the curtains had been pulled closed, she gave him a chaste parting kiss, holding his face in her hands like she’d been doing it for her whole life. As usual, that little flush came to both of them: Florence’s ears tinged red and a pinkish hue gracing his cheeks. She could only hope that her brother wasn’t peeking between a gap in the curtains; she’d have a lot of explaining to do, if so.

“I’ll visit you again soon?” His voice was quiet-- as though he wanted to maintain a sense of intimacy despite the passersby-- and a hand lingered over her waist, testing to see if that was too much for her. 

Florence didn’t object, instead reciprocating with a palm pressed to his chest. His hold on her became more definite and the feeling that rose in her chest made her smile. “The dinner is this Saturday--”

“I meant beforehand, Flor. Need to make sure that you’re not bending yourself over backwards to appease Willard, _son of the Earl of Carnarvon_.” 

The dimple bore into Florence’s cheek-- _a beautiful sight_ \-- and she shook her head in that way of hers. “I won’t be; I already know what dress I’ll wear and all I need to do is consult Freddy about it.” Her hand moved from his chest to his bicep, squeezing it in reassurance. “I’ll be fine, Jacob. Don’t get all soppy with me.” She poked him now, little fingernail jabbing into skin, and he groaned, “You’ll remind me of Willard.”

“ _Don’t say that_ \--”

“I should get inside. Goodbye, Jacob.” There was that cheeky smirk upon her lips as she trailed away, fingers dancing down the length of his arm and she took steps backwards.

However, his hand caught hers just before it left him and he pulled her back in for a delightful little peck. When they parted, it was almost as though her expression had moved from her face to his. “Just look after yourself, love.”

“I’ll try.” With that, she finally left him, sliding herself through the door, but not without looking back over her shoulder and shooting him a smile. As always, Jacob was stuck simply staring at the closed door for a while but that terrible missing feeling wasn’t there like it usually was. God, Evie was going to bully him when she found out.

The smell of chicken immediately overwhelmed Florence as she hung her shawl up. Cutlery clattered a room over and there was a muffled shout of “Hello, dear!” from Lissie. The older woman’s head poked around the corner, a smile on her face despite the napkins in her mouth, and said something that sounded like “Tea’s almost ready” but Florence couldn’t be sure. Nevertheless, she gave a little nod, mind already refocusing on the task of telling Freddy about their dinner plans for the weekend.

“Freddy?” She shouted in that way of hers. From the dining room, there was shuffling and stifled laughter from Lissie. “ _Fredd_ \--”

“Florrie! Can you not bellow everything you say like a town crier?” He emerged from the dining room, hands tucked into the little pockets sewn into his waistcoat. He looked tired-- and eventful day at work, she assumed-- but he, despite his chiding, greeted her with a lopsided smile. “What is it?” With a hand, he beckoned her toward the table, shifting past Lissie, who was diligently trying to plate up their food. 

Florence made her way to a seat-- across from her brother as always-- and clasped her hands together before her, careful not to keep her elbows on the table in an effort to appease Lissie. “Willard--”

“Oh, yes, you were due to meet him today, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was--”

“Though I’ve also heard that, by the grace of God, you bumped into him another time-- by the jewellers.” Freddy leant back in his chair, thick eyebrows raised to the heavens. Florence pursed her lips. “I also heard that you were there with a man about my height, bit of stubble, flat cap, that had the same flighty disposition as a certain Jacob Frye--”

“Perhaps I was but that isn’t what I need to tell you.” Florence placed a hand on the table between them-- as if she was trying to calm a slowly angering beast. Much to her surprise, Freddy gave a little nod that asked her to continue, though the look in his eyes said that that conversation wasn’t over yet. “He has apparently heard rumours of his own ill-intentions toward you and wants to prove he doesn’t share the same will as his brother--”

“-- the doctor that was particularly nasty to his patients?”

Florence did a disgusted little nod, a sudden discomfort rocketing across her body knowing that such a monster’s brother could have similar intentions for her own family. “-- so he’s _graciously_ invited us to dinner this coming Saturday.” She, mirroring her brother, slouched back in her chair, quite obviously at unease with the whole prospect. 

Freddy hummed, nodding a thanks to Lissie as she placed a gravy boat in front of him, a little frown tugging at his lips. “Maybe we misunderstood him?” 

With such certainty in her movements that Freddy fully believed her for a second, Florence shook her head. “He’s likely covering up; he lost that little note of his and now he has act particularly saintly lest I ruin all his plans.” She twirled her fork between her fingers then poked a breast of chicken. “Besides, Jacob thinks that he’s up to more than no good and, quite frankly, I trust his intuition.”

At the mention of the Frye, Freddy sighed. Florence went to speak before he could but he held up a hand to stop her. “Attending the dinner will be fine, if only to help us ease any worries we have. I have yet to meet the bloody bloke so maybe I’ll be able to draw some of my own conclusions about him.” A moment of quiet passed over them both, a thick cloud of questions travelling with it. Then, Freddy gave her a certain look-- the kind that desired a level of sincerity. “What were you doing with Jacob today?”

Florence pushed a roast potato about on the plate, slathering it in gravy, then took a careful bite out of it. It was almost like she was trying to avoid the question. Sometimes, Florence Abberline was a foolish woman.

“We ran into each other and--”

“ _Do not_ \--” He paused, sucking a breath through his teeth, “-- lie to me, Florrie. I won’t be angry.” Florence looked unconvinced-- worried. Freddy’s expression softened; she was his little sister and he should be kinder. “I promise.”

She rolled her lips inwards and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in that nervous way of hers. “Fine. The truth is that I might, perhaps, in theory--”

“ _Florence_.”

“I like him. A little bit.” They both stared at each other for a few moments and she groaned. “Alright, a lot more than I expected.”

Much to her surprise, Freddy simply smiled. It was one of those strange, unreadable smiles but a smile, nonetheless. “That’s… _alright_. He’s been doing good work for me recently and, despite his incessant joking and insistence on calling me anything but my name, I trust him to not go out of his way to manipulate you. He’s too _dopey_ , the poor lad.”

Florence had the kind of expression one would adopt if they were told they were the Queen’s long-lost sister. “ _What?_ Why are you-- _hold on_ \--” 

Lissie moseyed on over to take the emptied gravy boat, a scheming little grin plastered across her dastardly face. “I told you that your brother would be okay, didn’t I?”

Puzzle pieces visibly clicked together in Florence’s mind and she uttered a furious “ _You_ ”, finger pointing accusingly toward the housemaid. “You told him, didn’t you? _Oh_ , you are such a--”

“-- treasure to society? Helpful friend?” Lissie pulled the towel from her apron and slapped Florence with it. “I am the mastermind behind this whole ordeal and, without me--”

“-- without her, I would likely not be as accepting of your choice in men, dear sister.” Freddy finished, hoping to quell any potential bickering between the two women. “She mentioned how torn up you were about telling me-- and _him_ for that matter-- and it made me realise that I’m perhaps too harsh on you; your carelessness is one of your many charms, I suppose.”

“I also asked him if he’d ever govern Emily the way he does you, to which he begrudgingly replied ‘No’.” Lissie raised a brow at Freddy and, despite this being a jab at him, he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“Jacob Frye is not the worst choice in husband, I suppose. I think mum would prefer that you marry for love too; it’s not like the Abberlines have any immediate desire to become nobility.” Freddy dipped his head to the side in the way that one does when they decide to allow something, eyes lost in some distant vision of the chaos that an Abberline-Frye wedding would involve.

Florence huffed out something that sounded like a laugh. “I still have no immediate intentions to marry the bloke; calm down.” She cut into a slice of carrot with her fork, refusing to look her brother in the eyes while discussing marriage. “Jacob is just a… _nice_ fellow that I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.” For a moment, it seemed like Lissie was about to say something horribly filthy so Florence quickly interjected to keep the conversation focused, “So… you’re okay with Jacob and I?”

“Yes, so long as he doesn’t become too forward and at least _tries_ to follow the proper rules of courting--”

“Because we kissed today and--”

“ _Damn_ it, Florrie! Can you do anything normally?” Despite his words and the hands that rubbed across his face, she could tell that he was fighting back a smile. 

Lissie erupted into satisfied giggling, clapping her hands together like she’d just watched a world-class play at the theatre. “That’s my girl! How was it? Was it as _romantic_ as we’d discussed?”

“Well, there wasn’t any rain or flowers involved but--”

“Right, I’m off to bed.” Freddy rose from his seat, rubbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Florence smiled in that impish way of hers, dimple boring into her cheek when Freddy gestured between the two women. “I’m okay with the idea of you and Jacob being together but, I beg of you, I need no details; you should reserve those for letters to our sister.” 

Florence and Lissie broke out into laughter, watching Freddy walk dejectedly up the stairs. Lissie collected up her skirts and plonked herself down beside Florence, grabbing the opened wine bottle from across the table and pouring some for herself and Florence. “Well, you have to tell me all about it now. I might _die_ if not.”

A slap came to the maid’s arm. “Don’t be so melodramatic.” Then, there was a pause during which Lissie stared at Florence, swirling the wine in her glass. Florence looked just about ready to burst, a sudden grin splitting her face. “God, it was lovely-- _he_ was lovely. Right, we were at the pub and we’d gotten our drinks when--”

Lissie listened to Florence’s babbling, a warmth in her chest that proclaimed pride, smiling at this tale of budding love. It was a wonder how, only a month or so ago, this same girl _loathed_ the idea of romance; he had cracked her well and fully, much to both of their joy, it seemed. A gentle flush grew on Florence’s face, that little dimple of hers never disappearing as she explained the events of the day. 

Call it a psychic inclination or just a gut feeling but Lissie knew that he would be good for her. It was only a matter of time before she’d be making wedding preparations. _Oh_ , the thought alone made her giddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am... so sorry this took so long, my lovelies :,,( my timetable got all turned around and i had a mega-huge dip in my mental health bc of it but !! i'm back on track !! and loving writing again!! 
> 
> i'm worried that this chapter is a little lacking, so please do tell me your thoughts (but also be gentle; i am just Babey) big things are in store for everyone but, of course, you need the little intermediary chapters else the story won't make sense so i'm super sorry if you think this is a little slow :(
> 
> as always chat with me in the comments or on tumblr (@possiblypeachy)! i also have a pinterest board for this (also @possiblypeachy) so have a peek, if you're so inclined! thank you so much!!


	11. Good Food, Bad Company

“ _Felicity!_ ” Florence groaned, puffing out her chest perhaps more than was needed in order to prove a point. “The seams will burst if you--” Lace tightened again and she sucked in a sharp breath, “-- adjust the corset any further.”

Lissie ignored her, contemplating whether or not to tie it up or continue pulling. It appears she had decided on the latter. “Nonsense.” She unthreaded a portion of the lace, finally allowing Florence to take a deep breath, before simply making the section achingly tighter. “You’re having dinner with nobility, dear; we must accentuate those hips of yours else--”

“I think you forget that I have no plans on marrying Willard.” There was a pause. “He’s a prick.”

Lissie chortled behind her, finally tying the lace up and patting her back, making sure everything was in place. “ _Yes_ , but you have to look like you want to marry him and bear those beautiful, golden-haired children of his.”

Florence gagged, turning to collect her crinolette from the chair with a frown. “I’ll have nightmares for weeks if you’re not careful.”

The maid took it from her and gestured for her to lean over somewhat so she could shimmy it over Florence’s body. “Besides,” She began, watching on as Florence did a strange little jig, helping the crinolette settle over her hips and backside evenly. A dastardly curl tugged at the maid’s lips, “Jacob’s to be going with you, is he not?” Florence groaned, rubbing the space between her brows. “It’s not such a bad thing to make him look at your arse--”

“ _Lissie!_ ” She hit the maid, stopping her from sliding petticoats over Florence’s head. Lissie did that dirty little giggle of hers before continuing with the task at hand. “I don’t-- I’m not going to--”

“Don’t lie to me, dear.” Lissie’s face was so deadpan that it made one wonder how desensitised she truly was to topics like this. Florence, on the other hand, had red-tinged ears and a twist to her lips that told of a loss of innocence. “He’s a handsome man. It’s only right that you might want to… _butter the biscuit_ \--”

“Felicity, no--”

“Perhaps a bit of _dancing in the sheets?_ ”

“I have no intention to _seduce_ Jacob in the _middle of Willard’s estate_.” Florence huffed, turning to collect up her skirts and throw them over her head. “That’s… _so_ many levels of sin and _I_ ,” Her nose upturned slightly, a certain amusement dancing about in her eyes, “am a woman of great virtue.”

Lissie pursed her lips, bending over to ensure that Florence’s dress fell properly around her ankles. “Well,” She straightened herself again, blue eyes meeting brown, “I would’ve at your age. The naughtiness makes it all the better.”

Florence’s lips curled into an inquisitive smirk, an eyebrow raised as she slid her arms into her bodice, slowly buttoning it with a look in her eyes that was enough to make any criminal confess. “I feel like there’s a story behind that statement.” She flattened the material down, spinning about in the mirror to check how she looked, before dragging her gaze back to Lissie. “Pray tell?”

Lissie rolled her lips inwards, contemplating. Then, with a sigh, she gestured toward that vanity table, encouraging Florence to sit. “Fine. I’ll tell you while I sort out your hair, though you mustn’t tell anyone-- _especially_ not the leatherworker down the road.”

Florence gasped. “ _You didn’t!_ ”

“It’s…” Lissie huffed out a laugh, clicking her tongue, “... probably not what you think.”

* * *

The sky had darkened outside, a mere strip of orange at the horizon and the beginnings of stars dotting the heavens. Florence had made a little home at the dining table, speaking with her brother about the possible events of the night. Every-so-often, he would have to hold one of her shaking hands or made a stupid joke-- as is the way of older brothers-- to calm her poor nerves. She’d end up ripping her hair out and no one wanted that; Lissie would kill him. 

“When do you think the carriage driver will be here?” Her voice had a tinge of worry to it, words forced out a little faster than usual. Florence hadn’t stopped chewing her lips since Lissie had finished with her hair.

“Soon, I suspect.” Freddy had said this quickly, wanting to take a sip of tea to brace himself for the question he planned to ask next. “Why are you so… _concerned_ about this whole ordeal? It’s unlike you, Florrie; where’s the girl that was spitting on kidnappers?”

Her mouth twisted into a smile at that, though one of her hands came up to hide it, eyes still proclaiming worry. “He-- _Willard_ \-- just feels so much more…” Her eyes dragged across the room as she searched for a word. Finally, her gaze met his again, “... _serious_. I’m tired of being two different people-- my name may as well be bloody... _Margaret_ when I’m with him. Lying is harder when the prospect of marrying the villain is so very real.” 

Frederick hummed, dark eyes glazed with thought. “Father wouldn’t want you to marry anyone you were opposed to. Besides,” The look he gave her was earnest, “all we need is a shred of evidence-- _solid evidence_ \-- against him and I can get him arrested myself. Speaking of which,” He turned slightly so that he could look toward the door, “where is Mister Frye?”

Florence clasped her hands together, trying to push the worry into the pit of her stomach rather than letting it loose in her heart. “I’m sure he’s nearby.” Freddy gave her an unconvinced look. “Jacob wouldn’t break his promise to me.”

“You trust him a lot.” Freddy clicked his tongue, stirring his spoon about in his tea. Then, he withdrew it from the cup and pointed it at his sister. “He’s an assassin, you know? They deal in lies and secrecy.”

“ _Freddy_ \--”

He held his hands up, surrendering. “I’m just making an observation, Florrie. I don’t want you to put all of your coins in one pot only to later realise that it’s actually a tube.” 

“Jacob is not a _tube_ \--”

A knock came to the door, along with muffled conversation. Freddy and Florence shot each other a look and he rose from his chair. 

“It’s Jacob.”

“Or, the carriage driver.”

Florence’s expression soured and Frederick took that as his queue to leave her at the table. Good thing that he did too, else that pompous tie he wore would be strangling him. 

Another two knocks rapped against their door and Freddy heard an exasperated sigh on the other side. He fiddled with the lock for a few moments before opening the door, revealing not one Frye but two. How wonderful. He felt his very soul shiver.

“-- you not tell me sooner? If you believe him to be a threat, you could’ve--”

“Evening, Freddy. Looking as handsome as ever.” Jacob squeezed in through the door, tipping his hat-- his _top hat_ \-- in greeting as he passed the police officer. Evie followed suit, too caught up in lecturing her brother to even say a quick ‘hello’ to Freddy, who looked like he’d been through a hurricane and a half without the night having even begun.

“-- warned me so _I_ could sort it out. Aren’t you too busy doing that Pearl woman’s dirty work to be attending dinner parties?”

Jacob spun around on his heel, making Evie bump into him, which in turn only angered her further. “Why can I not do both? Didn’t you always want me to be more active in _civilised society?_ ” Florence poked her head around the doorway to see Evie clench her fist. Jacob’s head dipped to the side, as if he wanted to invade her space but didn’t want a black eye before the event. “Or, have you finally become aware that _I’m_ the one doing all the work? God forbid that I take a night off, lest all of London fall, right, Evie?”

“You’re _impossible!_ ”

He blanked her and peered around his sister in hopes of meeting eyes with the sergeant. “Where’s Flor, Freddy?”

“Why must you always have your own agenda, Jacob?” Evie tried to interject to very little avail; her brother had no desire to continue their argument. He was there for Florence and, by God, he wouldn’t disappoint.

Frederick pointed loosely in the direction of the dining room, other hand raised to his forehead as if that might protect him from an oncoming headache. “Over there, anxiously eating this morning’s loaf, most likely.” 

Florence, by this point, had hidden herself from view again, debating on whether she should barge into the kitchen to ask for comfort from Lissie or to suck it all up and face the rage of Evie Frye and the inevitability of tonight’s dinner plans. Just as she was about to decide on the former, hands fumbling with the door to the kitchen, three bodies turned the corner and stopped in place, watching her pat down her dress as though that was all that she had ever planned to do. Florence was a smart woman, but this was one of the occasions in which she certainly _was not_. 

“Hello.” She said, voice wavering in such a way that she sounded like a prepubescent boy. Jacob’s lips tugged upwards.

“You look beautiful.” He replied. Freddy grimaced and Evie rolled her eyes to the side, disgusted by the prospect that their respective sibling might ever feel romantic emotions. Admittedly, however, neither could deny that Florence did look particularly dolled-up for the occasion-- what with a dress that _almost_ matched her eyes in that golden-brown hue and loose curls framing her face. Not to say that she didn’t look nice enough any other day-- anyone who said otherwise would get a pointed look and a scowl-- but Florence had really gone all out for this dinner. There was a tiny part of his heart that felt a pang at this-- _why had she put so much effort in for him?_ \-- but he pushed it aside; she was doing what she-- _everybody_ \-- thought was right.

Florence’s lips tugged upwards and she took a few steps towards him, keeping them separated by a few chairs around the dining table. “You…” She took in his appearance, “... clean up nicely.” 

He barked out a laugh. “Ah, thank you, dear Flor.” He took the liberty of moving towards her, throwing a glance at Freddy to assess how he felt on the situation. Her brother had a hawk-like glint in his eyes, sure to bat any wandering hands back to their respective owners-- whether Jacob’s or Florence’s.

Upon seeing this, she huffed a laugh through her nose and swept around the dining table-- a task that is not difficult to do when wearing such a dress-- to wrap Jacob into a hug. “I like the hat.” She murmured into his shoulder, careful to not mess up the hair that had taken Lissie so long to pin into place. Jacob’s hands hovered for a few moments, taken aback by this show of affection in front of her brother, but quickly threw all caution to the wind and accepted her embrace, planting a chaste kiss atop her head.

At that exact moment, Lissie opened the door from the kitchen, broom in hand, only to immediately coo over the pair of them, a hand pressed to her cheek and all. “Look at you couple of sweethearts!” Jacob and Florence pulled away from one another, though his hand lingered on the small of her back for a few moments before retracting. Florence’s look to the maid was filled with desperation-- a want for her to just _stay quiet_. Lissie was a loud woman, however. “See, Freddy?” She leant the broom against the dining table so she could take Florence’s face in her hands and squeeze her cheeks together, forcing her to face her brother. “You can’t stop young love.” When her eyes met Frederick’s, they shared a similar look of despair. Then, as her sight trailed to Evie, wondering what she might think of the whole situation, she was met with a look of confusion. Florence would’ve sighed, had her cheeks not been pushed together so tightly.

“Whve do lishen for dhe carrige drivuh.” 

Everyone’s brows drew downwards in confusion. 

Florence tried to huff to little avail and batted Lissie’s hands away. “We have to listen for the carriage driver.” There was a small chorus of ‘oh’s, to which Florence rolled her eyes. “It is as though I’m the only person here that has any worries about tonight.” 

“I doubt he’ll-- _what?_ \-- _poison us_ or anything.” Freddy said in an effort to calm. If anything, however, it merely made his sister angrier. The chance of him being strangled with his own tie was increasing once more. “For all intents and purposes, we’re simply going to a dinner party because this Willard bloke sees a future for you both. If he does anything-- this soon after his brother being arrested-- he’ll be throwing his entire family in the doghouse.”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Willard Molyneux-Herbert? That’s the Willard we’re talking about?” All eyes landed on her, inquisitive, though Jacob’s gaze held a small inkling of annoyance too, borne from a desire for his sister to stay out of this business. “Mister Green has been looking into his family for a while. They’re incredibly guarded, despite being in the public eye so often, and their grounds often have Blighters loitering about-- _Jacob_ ,” Evie furrowed her brows, gesturing somewhere as if the entire ordeal was laid out in front of them like a set of blueprints, “if you had actually told me of this matter--”

Three knocks rapped at the door and an obvious sense of relief washed across Jacob’s expression. “Well, dear sister, duty calls--”

“Jacob, _no_ \--”

He shuffled himself behind Florence and began to bump her out of the door, Freddy having already gone to greet the carriage driver. With a sing-song lilt to his voice, he replied, “Jacob, yes!” and kicked the door closed with his foot, leaving Evie and Lissie alone. 

The maid placed her hands on her hips. “I have a bit of stew on the hob back there, if you’d like some grub before you leave?”

Evie turned to look at her, fatigue the only readable thing on her face, and nodded, pulling out a chair and plonking herself down upon it. “That would be lovely.”

* * *

The carriage ride there was tense. Well, Florence thought it was, at least. Her thumbs wouldn’t stop fiddling with one another and even Jacob’s constant poking at her brother barely made her smile. There was just this… _sickness_ in the bottom of her stomach that told her something wasn’t right-- especially after what Evie had said-- and Frederick appeared to be sharing the same worries.

“What do you think she meant?” Florence finally asked as they were carted down some bumpy, dirt road. “Why would Mister Green be looking into his family?” 

Freddy chewed on his lip. “His brother was obviously a threat to society. Maybe Mister Green just wanted to keep tabs on a dangerous family?” Florence and Jacob shared an unconvinced look. “I don’t know! I don’t know. All we can do is be careful, I suppose.”

“Do you not know anything about them?” Her gaze turned to Jacob, concern so prevalent in her eyes that it was almost as though the emotion had weaved itself into her very being.

There was a small moment in which Jacob felt bad for not having told his sister about the ordeal earlier; she could’ve told him all they knew about Willard’s family and Florence wouldn’t have been so torn up about the situation. It was difficult not to frown upon seeing her so upset. “I don’t; I’m sorry. Though, I suspect Evie and Greenie know very little too. We’ve been too busy with the Templars and the Rooks at the moment to look too far into some… poncey upper-class family.” 

Florence breathed a laugh out through her nose. “Let’s hope they’re merely that.”

The rest of the carriage ride was quiet, with the occasional complaints about the bumps in the road or Freddy trying to keep the _lovebirds_ from becoming too chummy in the back of the carriage. Hand holding was _not_ allowed in front of him! Besides, he would live and die by the fear of the driver somehow sensing that Florence, his master’s ‘beloved’, was fawning over another man.

When they finally arrived, none of them had expected the size of his grounds and the ornate decorations strung about his estate. Florence, in a manner very much like a long-lost princess being shown the home of her recently found royal family, peered out of the window with her mouth agape and a wondrous glint in her eyes. Jacob seemed to be doing something similar-- even with the princess-esque vibe-- to which Freddy was overcome with an immediate sense of tiredness.

“Honestly,” Jacob turned to her, a little quirk to his lips, “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to marry him.” 

She hit his arm, the dimple appearing in her cheek for the first time today. He laughed, though it also sounded like an ‘ _ow!_ ’, and plopped himself back down in his seat. Florence did the same, mischief in her eyes. “He’ll have to buy me a _really_ nice horse first.”

“I have no chance, do I?” Jacob feigned hurt, holding a hand to his heart. “My own lady, betraying me for a stallion.” 

“I suggest that we-- _you_ \-- stop with your… _banter_.” Freddy interjected, earning him looks of innocence from the other two. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Florrie, you’re in love with Willard. Jacob, you’re merely our… manservant--” Florence stifled a laugh at this and her brother shot her a sharp look, “-- which means no comments, no compliments, and none of your stupid comedy.”

“Okay,” Jacob huffed out a laugh, “No comments, no compliments, and no comedy: the three Cs. I’ve got it. I’ll be the best manservant the world has yet seen.”

Luckily for Jacob, the carriage slowed to a stop, preventing Freddy from trying to wring him out like a towel. Two thumps hit the side-- the driver signalling that they were finally there-- and Jacob pushed the door open, shoes crunching down on gravel. Freddy clambered out first and, much to Jacob’s disappointment, didn’t use their servant’s hand to help get out of the carriage. Florence, however, would never be beyond taking a chance to hold his hand and, as he helped her out, a little squeeze came to her fingers in an act of reassurance. She glanced around briefly, ensuring that no one was peeking at them through the many windows of the house and that the driver was on the other side of the carriage, before leaning up to place a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He gave this little, conflicted smile, wanting nothing more than to reciprocate the gesture, but by the time that he would’ve made up his mind, Florence and her brother were already walking towards the grand doors of the house.

It was a beautiful estate and, honestly, Florence would be lying if she said she was unimpressed. Most people dreamt of living in such houses-- _castles_ \-- one day, though Florence refused to allow the thought of spending the rest of her days like a noblewoman to influence her image of Willard. He may be absurdly handsome and have that kind of wave to hair that made him seem like some sort of demi-god _but_ he was a prick and Florence would try her best to remember that-- even if he does serve chicken fricassee. She narrowed her eyes. He would be a _bastard_ if he served chicken fricassee.

“I have a feeling that me, being a police officer, and him, having a family now known for criminal activity, won’t be getting on particularly well.” Freddy leant to the side slightly so he could speak quietly to his sister. “I mean, what am I going to talk to him about? _‘Oh, yes, remember when I arrested your brother for mutilating his patients? Good times.’_ ” 

Florence’s lips twisted into a smile that suppressed laughter and a hand came to her brother’s arm. “I doubt he’ll be speaking much to you. Remember: I’m the subject of his affections, much to my own discomfort.” 

Frederick grimaced at the thought. Why did all this happen to his little sister?

The carriage driver-- a short, middle-aged man-- hurried past both Jacob and the siblings to open the door and announce their arrival. However, it seemed as if their presence was already known; the door swung open to reveal Willard himself, all dressed up and hair slicked back, the colour of his suit a beautiful navy-- much like Florence’s favourite colour. She already felt uneasy and Freddy’s hand came to her elbow to gently usher her forward, though whether this was in an effort to comfort or to subject her to Willard’s greeting first she was unsure.

“Florence, it seems you have stolen the beauty of Aphrodite herself tonight.” He took a step outside, arms held outwards in a manner that was uncomfortably similar to someone beckoning their pet. “It is lovely to see you, sweet thing.” 

Both men beside her tensed, for different reasons altogether, but it was comforting, nonetheless, to know that she wasn’t the only one that was feeling the weight of Willard’s words. However, despite the terrible feeling in her stomach, Florence’s lips curled into a polite smile-- dimple nowhere to be seen-- and walked toward him, steps unsteady beneath her skirts. “It’s been too long already, Willard. I must’ve spoken my maid’s ear off about tonight.” She placed her hands in his and he pulled her towards him in an embrace. 

It was at this point that Willard seemed to grow cold, pale eyes boring into the manservant over Florence’s shoulder. They parted rather abruptly, her eyes wide, and Willard slid past her to regard the other two. “You must be Sergeant Frederick Abberline, no?” He held his hand out to shake, though his disposition was hardly as welcoming anymore. Freddy’s hand was shaken far more vigorously than he’d expected, shoulder jarring quite uncomfortably. He was barely able to get a word in lengthways, either; Willard had moved onto Jacob. “And, you, are Jacob Frye. I was unaware that others would be coming too.”

Florence’s fingers wrapped around Willard’s arm, her face appearing in the corner of his eye. “He’d paid to help us around the house and on outings by my father; the poor old man gets worried about the wellbeing of his youngest. It would send him into ill health if he knew that Mister Frye wasn’t here.”

“Well,” Jacob and Willard’s eyes were locked for far too long, manly pride likely being the reason for them staring the other down. Willard finally broke away so that he could look at Florence, an uncomfortable smile tugging at his lips, “he needn’t be there while we eat. There’s a parlour he can read in or perhaps the servant’s quarters are more fitting.”

Jacob bowed slightly. “Whatever the sir wishes. I aim only to serve.”

Florence pushed down a grin, her eyes meeting Jacob’s in a fleeting glance-- a brow raised just enough for him to notice-- before she was turned by Willard and escorted into the estate. 

The house was pleasantly warm with the aroma of, what was most likely, their dinner wafting about the halls already. In that moment, Florence realised that she’d have to put dinnertime etiquette into use; she couldn’t gorge herself on potatoes like usual, she supposed. What a shame.

The interior was just as grandiose as the exterior, with plush red cushions strewn about on lounge chairs and golden-framed paintings on every wall she could possibly see. Florence was half surprised that there wasn’t ambient piano music echoing into every corner of the house. As they all turned a corner, they were met with the meek little smile of a worker who half-bowed and scurried away like a rat caught stealing bread. There was a strange sense of uneasiness in the interaction, though Willard paid it no mind, guiding Florence along the halls with a hand to her lower back. 

Doors were pushed open with his free hand to reveal the dining room: a splendid interior with mahogany wood and a freshly picked vase of peonies, snapdragons, and daffodils. A pretty collection of flowers, she thought, though perhaps a tad too extravagant for her taste. Dishes clattered as cooks worked to lay out the table and-- _what is that?_ Florence looked about for a few moments before meeting eyes with a pianist on the other side of the room. She could’ve laughed; _there_ was the piano music she’d expected.

“I do believe,” Willard stepped to the side, an arm out to the side to welcome them into the room, “that our wonderful chefs have prepared a cream of celery soup for our starter.” Florence moved past him first, his body leant uncomfortably close to hers. The smell of him was overwhelming-- almost reminiscent of the feeling one gets by watching an urchin being given a shilling by a lord; nice but in an achingly condescending way. Then came Frederick, his nose leading him; the poor man hadn’t eaten yet today and was willing to disregard the anxiety weaved so deeply into every aspect of the room if only to get his hands on some of that soup they were serving. Jacob would’ve followed suit, had the lanky frame of Willard not stepped before him. Green eyes bore into hazel. “The rest of the workers usually spend time in the room just down that corridor.” He pointed over Jacob’s shoulder, though Jacob had yet to turn and look in that direction. “Someone will call for you when they’re leaving.”

The sheer amount of restraint that Jacob had to practice to not make it obvious he wanted to break Willard’s nose was quite impressive. Instead, his lips twisted into a tight smile and he nodded. “Of course. You won’t hear a peep out of me, Mister Molyneux-Herbert.” With that, Jacob turned on his heel and disappeared from sight. Satisfied, Willard closed the doors the dining room.

Jacob rubbed his hands together, taking a swift left to go upstairs, a certain devilishness to his every expression and movement. 

_What a fool._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! the dinner party has begun! i don't think it'll last very long but we'll see where my writing takes me lmao!
> 
> i have a question for you all, however: should jacob and flor ;)) y'know ;))) get jiggy with it ;)) (that was horrendous i'm so sorry- no, don't leave-- please!) in the next chapter? if they do, it'll be like....... naughty and in a totally inappropriate place BUT i'm also far too scared of making their relationship move too fast? i dunno; hit me with some feeback and we'll see what happens ~
> 
> as always, thanks for your support, my lovelies, and you can contact me down below, on tumblr (@possiblypeachy), or on pinterest (also @possiblypeachy) if you want to coo over anything with me!! c:


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